


Vial Behavior

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Author Knows Nothing About Fashion & Couture, BAMF John, Best Friends, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fashion & Couture, Feelings, Fluff, For Science!, Friends to Lovers, Holmes Family, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Potions (but it's not magic), M/M, Not Magic, Seriously there's no magic - none, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Is Bad At Flirting, Surprise Ending, Virgin Sherlock, mummy holmes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has returned and is now living yet again with his dear friend Doctor John Watson. During his absence Sherlock comes across a bit of an experiment he decides to try. After all, what's the worst that can happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Potions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the beginning of this weeks ago and haven't gotten around to finishing it so I thought I'd give it a go.  
> Ravenwolf36 - thank you for the pre-read that you did so long ago. All mistakes are mine!

Sherlock had three vials in front of him. He’d been working on this formula for months now, simply out of curiosity. It had taken a lot to get all the various ingredients, several of them had to be manufactured in stages and that had taken Sherlock the better part of the spring to accomplish that phase, and now it was nearing the end of summer. All his work was contained in these three delicate containers.

“I’m heading to the shops, do you want anything?” Good old John. Sherlock was grateful for his flatmate’s obsessive need for milk. It meant John would go out regularly and would always fetch back whatever else Sherlock might need, as long as his errand list wasn’t too long or too far out of the good doctor’s way. Sherlock had all his needs scheduled around John’s milk requirements. When the doctor went to work at the hospital Sherlock would carefully bin various items in their home; necessitating another of John’s many, many trips to stores all around London. Sherlock had carefully poured out all the milk early this morning, leaving just enough for John to have a single cup of tea. He’d want two, but refused to drink it without milk. John was miserable in the mornings without tea so Sherlock took care not to deprive him of it entirely, “I need a silver teaspoon. There’s a jewelry store a block off Tesco, take my card. _It has to be pure silver_.”

John rolled his eyes but took the card, “I’m getting the food with this too, yeah?”

“Do what you must John, get yourself a new jumper too. I can’t bear to look at that patched up atrocity any longer!”

“Oi, my mum made me this!”

“Then you should pack it lovingly away and never wear it again. Seriously John, next to the jewelers there’s a men’s clothing store with an appalling selection but anything, simply anything would be better than that. On me just don’t forget the _silver spoon_.”

“Posh git.” grumbled John but he trundled faithfully away to take care of the mundane details he adored so much. Sherlock returned to contemplating his concoction. The silver spoon was the very last part. He had everything else ready and he wanted to enjoy this moment for as long as possible. Sherlock reviewed his notes carefully, adding points here and there as he re-examined the long drawn out process. The manual had been surprisingly specific once you knew how to read it and Sherlock was _positive_ this would work.

An hour later John came back bearing several bags. He dumped everything on the table, nearly upsetting Sherlock’s experiment, “Sorry!” he exclaimed and neatly put everything jostled back in to place before stowing the shopping. John handed Sherlock a silver spoon. It was simple yet had a complicated knotted pattern to the handle. It was perfect, “I liked this one. I don’t know what you’re using it for but since I had to pick from about thirty this one caught my eye.”

“Appreciated John. Dinner?”

“Chicken. One hour. Don’t run away. Take your spoon and go sit in the front room.”

“Jumper?”

“Are you not speaking in whole sentences today? Yes I bought a jumper, you happy? It’s lovely. It’s got a great big sunflower knitted into it. See? Clever, yeah? Look, it’s got blue bits in it that match your scarf.” Sherlock had pulled it out of the bag. It was hideous but it looked soft and warm and if anyone could carry off wearing a gigantic sunflower on his chest it was John Watson.

“It’s very _you_ John. The next time we need to infiltrate a retirement community your disguise will already be on hand, very practical.”

“Piss off. You can’t even inhale all the way because you’re so vain you won’t admit you’ve put on a stone. That shirt is going to split at the seams. You know the Yarders are laying bets about those buttons popping off during a crime scene. I’ve got five quid on you putting someone’s eye out.” John eyed the buttons on Sherlock’s chest meaningfully.

Sherlock looked down. His shirt was still closed. Mostly. As long as he made no big gestures his shirt fit fine. “I am not fat.” Sherlock suddenly felt self-conscious and moved to sit straighter.

“I didn’t say fat. I said you put on a stone. I’m proud of that stone, it looks fantastic on you. I worked hard to make that happen.” John practically force fed Sherlock every day! Every day! Who needed to eat every single day? John kept going on about three entire meals and Sherlock had ignored him.  Granted he was thinking with greater clarity and his sleep was extremely restful now but that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with being fed regularly which was what John was doing though he referred to it as “feeding up”. Well Sherlock was getting fed up, fed up of bloody eating all the time, seriously, _every single day_. Sherlock eyed his buttons again and John said, “Well I’m glad you still fit that shirt. That’s my favorite, goes well with your eyes.”

John was always saying little complimentary things like that. That’s why Sherlock kept him around. John had been adoring from day one and Sherlock could not get enough of it. It was like having a tiny mobile cheering squad all of his own. It was safe to say that John was Sherlock’s biggest fan and that fact ensured John’s place as Sherlock’s best friend forever.

Sherlock had plans for John and they involved the silver spoon as well as a bit of the now retired jumper. Sherlock slipped upstairs while John cooked and snipped off a few strands of loose wool from the inside. Tucking the jumper back exactly as he’d found it Sherlock made it back to the living room with John none the wiser, “Dinner in fifteen!”

Perfect. John could always be counted on for his schedule. He’d call out dinner warnings in five minute intervals, just enough time for the scientist to finish his project. Sherlock pulled out a shallow crystal bowl he’d had shipped in from Greece and poured in his vials, stirring them three times each as he added one cylinder after the other. Sherlock then pulled out two tall crystal glasses, dropped in the threads from John’s jumper and mixed it in. His concentration was such that Sherlock didn’t notice a hair from his head flutter down and land in the second glass. “John I was given this vintage from a client. Try it out with me; I’m going to start teaching you to have a palate. You can’t drink boxed wine forever.”

“Git! Fine, I’ll drink your fancy wine in a glass. Where did you even get those glasses? I’ve plated up already, _bottoms up_!”

“Don’t chug…” too late. John had quickly swallowed down Sherlock’s concoction so Sherlock was forced to do the same. He gagged down the rapidly dissolving threads and smiled at John’s now glassy expression, “Perfect.”

It wasn’t perfect. The potion was clearly working on John but Sherlock didn’t realize he was going to feel something as well. Somewhat dazed Sherlock blinked along with John who said, “Sherlock. I feel funny. Did you poison me?”

“Possibly John, I may have poisoned us both accidentally. Something’s wrong. My heart, it’s beating so fast!” John looked worried but also dazed but he reached out to check Sherlock’s pulse and somehow his palm landed on Sherlock’s cheek instead of his throat or wrist. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the gentle warmth, “Your hand! It’s so much softer than I thought it would be.”

“Sherlock you’re feverish.” John’s thumb was wandering over Sherlock’s now closed eyelid and both of them made a soft appreciative sound.

His other eye was still open and Sherlock was awestruck, “John you look amazing tonight. Your hair is like spun gold chased with silver.” Sherlock could not stop his mouth. John was absolutely ravishing. How had he not noticed? Sherlock thought he probably shouldn’t continue commenting like that. John would not welcome compliments like that from him, it would make him uncomfortable. Sherlock felt his body grow warmer and he had the almost irresistible desire to crawl into John’s lap and do…something…what was going on? This was not supposed to be happening! Something was wrong, very wrong!

“Sherlock are you alright. I don’t think I am. I feel all… _hot_.”

“Me too John, I’m burning up. Do you mind?” Sherlock was already shrugging his coat off and John was shaking his head.

“No, good idea, good idea, I’ll do the same. Oh. I’m not wearing a coat.”

“You could take off your shirt. It must be so hot. I’m too hot. There’s something wrong with the heating. We’ll cool off and then go talk to Mrs. Hudson.” John was still glassy looking but he nodded hard, agreeing completely with Sherlock’s plan. Their dinner ignored both men took off one layer at a time until they were standing in their pants. Sherlock was very surprised to find himself developing something of an erection. He hadn’t had one of those in almost ten years! What was going on?

“Good idea. Cool off. I’m...wow. Sherlock. You’re so beautiful.” Sherlock found himself blushing and gazing back at John fatuously, “So beautiful. I mean, manly but still….you are quite lovely.”

Sherlock stepped a tiny bit closer to John, “You tease. You’re very handsome John. I should have noticed it the day we met. I like the lines of your face and the silver in your hair. You’re very distinguished, very handsome indeed.” Wait, Sherlock did _not_ think John was handsome, at least not out loud! John was very regularly shaped and quite plain. There was nothing beautiful about him, well, when he got mad at a villain sure perhaps he had incited an excited blush or two from Sherlock, but they were always running about and Sherlock had always just put it off as normal breathlessness.

“What was in that drink Sherlock?” John’s hand hadn’t left Sherlock’s cheek and now his thumb was caressing Sherlock’s lower lip. Sherlock shivered and almost couldn’t speak as all his hidden thoughts broke loose of their confines in his mind palace. John’s hands were gun-calloused but so gentle. It spoke of everything John, that doctor and soldier, the healer and breaker, that simple yet complex man. He was a dichotomy, _oh_ _John_!

“I synthesized hormones. It’s a potion. Oxytocin derivatives. Some prolactin. A bit of vasopressin. Some other things. It’s taken me weeks and weeks and weeks to get it right. This is not the result I anticipated.” Unicorn horn and fairy dust, silk from spider webs that hung in castles that straddled lay-lines, all sorts of things that Sherlock had searched out and found. It wasn’t real unicorn-horn, it was an herb, a rare one that had to be specially prepared for three months before he’d been able to crumble the results with yet another slowly processed mix until it had all rendered down to those three clear vials. The fairy dust was nothing more than spores from a very singular fungus, they twinkled when scattered but only because they had reflective surfaces and not because they were magical. Sherlock had purified and reduced component after component to complete the formula. It was the most challenging procedure he’d ever undertaken and the complexity of it was as intriguing as its eventual effect.

“Those are…” John’s hand slid away.

“Love John, I made a love potion for you. You were supposed to fall in love with me but I may have miscalculated somewhere. _I love you John_!” Sherlock felt his heart racing even more as John’s hand moved down to cup the back of his head, those small dangerous hands winding into Sherlock’s curls.

“Oh god I love you too Sherlock! So much!” How had Sherlock not noticed the good decent timber of John’s voice, not too high, not too low, but like a proverbial fairy-tale of _just right_. Everything about John was just right. He was just the right height to admire, he was just the right height to step up close to, he was just the right height for Sherlock to smell the top of his head and he smelled just perfectly deliciously _right_ for Sherlock.

It was cheesy and perfect as they took one hesitant step each. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s shoulder and the other around his waist, dipping him backward before claiming John’s wonderfully thin and dry lips with his own. It was heaven, absolute heaven!

The light shone brighter and though there were no birds nearby John and Sherlock heard them anyway. They stared at one another, completely love-struck, “I want you Sherlock.”

“Yes my John yes!” It didn’t bother Sherlock that he sounded like one of the characters on Mrs. Hudson’s afternoon programmes. “Be gentle with me.” Did John even know Sherlock was entirely innocent in this regard? It didn’t matter, not now, not with John.

“Oh god yes!” stumbling awkwardly in each other’s arms they tumbled through Sherlock’s bedroom door and landed on his bed. John’s mouth roamed everywhere it seemed and it was leaving Sherlock a bit dizzy! John covered Sherlock’s mouth with his, his small strong body straddling Sherlock and making him feel so desired so wanted so cherished. Sherlock felt his eyes well up! John! Beautiful, golden, gracious John! Sherlock closed his eyes to accept the kiss and felt John’s body suddenly grow limp and heavy on his, their mouths pressed together as the lights went out.

*  *  *

“I’m going to bloody kill you! I’m going to bloody _murder_ you! No one will complain! Hell, Lestrade and Anderson will help me _hide your body_!” Sherlock woke to John’s shouts as he felt the smaller man climb off of him, “You drugged me! On purpose! _Again_! A love potion Sherlock _? A love potion_? What were you thinking? Why would you….no…no….don’t say a word. Nope. Not now. I’m washing up and then I am going out for a walk. We are going to have a _HUGE_ talk when I get my temper under control.”

Oh dear. John was angry. That wasn’t the same as John being mad. John _mad_ meant exciting fights in dank alleys, gunfire, and occasionally the snap of bone if the baddies didn’t run away fast enough. John _angry_ was Sherlock being lectured like a child while John shouted at the walls and ranted on about whatever it was that Sherlock had most recently done to piss him off all over again. There was no hiding from it. John was capable of holding onto his anger for simply ages. It had taken the better part of a year for him to stop making that awful face when he was reminded of how Sherlock had let him believe he had died.

John had looked so charming when he stormed away! Oh dear. Sherlock was still experiencing the effects of the potion though they seemed to have worn off of John. Why was that? John was already in the shower, cursing and swearing colorfully to the innocent tiles. Sherlock dragged himself out of bed and looked at himself in the full length mirror he kept against the wall. Sherlock allowed his eyes to take in the facts as he saw them, flushed cheeks, dilated eyes, furrowed brow, and…oh my…a love-bite on his chest. Sherlock caressed it. _A kiss that stayed_. He loved it. Oh dear, dear, dear. Sherlock was clearly still potion-locked on John!

John stomped and swore his way upstairs, slamming drawers shut as he dressed himself, and thundered out of the flat in a high temper. John did not like being manipulated and Sherlock felt grateful John hadn’t chinned him. He’d done it before. John really was thrilling, a firecracker. He was completely safe when handled properly, with respect and care. Unfortunately Sherlock was always pushing the envelope and inevitably he’d rub John the wrong way long enough to spark him into a fiery spark filled showdown. This was likely one of those times.

 _Poor sweet John_! He hadn’t deserved to be tricked like that! Sherlock was suddenly cognizant of what a cad he had been, trying to chemically deceive someone was loyal and honorable as John Hamish Watson, only the very worst sort of person would do such a thing. Sherlock needed to make this up to his good doctor somehow.

Sherlock washed himself up and cleaned the bathroom. He went to the kitchen and binned his samples out of the fridge, and gave everything a bit of a wipe. John liked to eat and Sherlock wanted to make his soldier happy because he loved John so very much. He didn’t have an apron so he tucked a kitchen towel into his waistband as he began to slave over the stove and counter, cooking almost ferociously as he searched the internet for recipes that utilized the eclectic offerings to be found in their cupboard. John never threw anything away if it was even remotely usable. He was very frugal and could make his money stretch further than anyone. Sherlock made good use of this habit now, and managed to cobble together a rather attractive array of dishes and even a sticky sweet dessert that was now setting in their safely cleaned refrigerator.

John didn’t come home until very late in the afternoon and he looked at all the food Sherlock had cooked somewhat skeptically, “You don’t seriously believe I’m going to consume anything you’ve made for me? Sherlock! You drugged me last night! A potion Sherlock! After Baskerville I thought….” John was clearly still very upset and looking at all the food was making it worse and not better.

Sherlock’s heart thumped unhappily as he took in John’s appearance. The thighs of his slacks were shinier and rumpled, he’d clutched his hands repeatedly to release stress, the crease between his eyes was deeper, John was worried, the set of his mouth spoke volumes about how hurt John was feeling, that he felt betrayed and that Sherlock was directly responsible for the stew of negative feelings John had wrestled with all day. Sherlock wanted to be ill. The heels of John’s shoes still bore traces of grass, he’d walked in the park to calm himself, there was a small stain on his sleeve, he’d gotten coffee but nothing else. John was hungry, miserable, and Sherlock could see that his best friend was on the verge of leaving completely, “You can order take-away, my treat. I am so incredibly sorry John! Please, at least let me explain…”

“I need to eat Sherlock, and I need a shower. I’m washing up and I’m going out to get something for dinner.” John went upstairs, no less angry now than he’d been when he’d woken up and Sherlock felt real fear for the first time. John was contemplating leaving Baker Street. This could not happen!

Sherlock snapped up his mobile, “Lestrade, you have to take John out for dinner. Now.”

“Sherlock I’m in the middle of a case, I don’t have time to be feeding your flatmate. John can fend for himself.” Lestrade did sound harassed.

“I will solve the next three cases for you even if they’re just a two without complaint.” bargained Sherlock, “Lestrade. I’ve made John incredibly upset. He’s obviously thinking of leaving! Please, you know I’m not good with these sorts of things _but_ _you are_! Help me please, for John.”

Lestrade was quiet for a long moment, “Alright. I need to eat anyway so you’ll pay me back by coming here now and buttoning this one up for me. Since I’m being so terrific you will also avoid insulting all the other officers while you are here. Understand? Okay, I’m calling John now so get moving.”

Sherlock flew out of the flat, barely taking the time to grab his coat. He checked the address Lestrade sent him and went to take care of his end of the bargain. The case was a mess so it was good that Lestrade had called him but it took longer to solve because Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about John. The victim was blond and Sherlock couldn’t help but compare the dead man’s hair to John’s, John won hands down, and not just by virtue of being alive and not matted with blood. John’s hair was soft and wavy, not exactly curly but just a touch unruly, a hint to the character of the man himself.

One of the officers on scene was wearing a jumper under his trench coat and Sherlock got sentimental. It was hideous, just like John’s. Sherlock asked him where he’d acquired it and noted the store down for a visit later on. Maybe John would accept a small gift as part of Sherlock’s apology.

Later on when Sherlock was being chased down a slippery back-street by a man with a gun he found himself wishing John were there, laughing by his side as they ducked behind something to surprise the villain. It wasn’t the same having to tackle someone himself and Sherlock got struck rather hard in the jaw before subduing the man. Donovan wasn’t far behind and finished apprehending their now evidence laden suspect, “John’s going to go spare when he sees that lump on your face.” she remarked. Sherlock touched his jaw, it was hot and swelling quickly, “Get some ice on that or something.”

Donovan was being unusually solicitous and Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. She ignored him as she handed the cuffed man over to her associates, “Don’t look at me like that freak. I’m not blind. You and John have had a _bit of a domestic_ as Mrs. Hudson would say, don’t tell you haven’t otherwise he’d be here and not me, and you wouldn’t have that big knot on your head. What did you do?”

“Why would you assume I did anything?” the contempt in Sherlock’s voice was extreme but Donovan just laughed.

“Don’t even try that with me Holmes! John is a saint. It has to be you, guaranteed. So, what did you do?”

Well she wasn’t wrong. John was a saint. He was marvelous and extraordinary, wonderful and warm, caring and devoted, “I drugged him with a love potion and myself on accident.”

Donovan laughed for several moments before collecting herself, “Which part was the accident, you drugging the pair of you or you getting drugged with John?” oh she was more intelligent than she appeared!

“Drugging myself along with John, I’d made the potion to affect him and not me. I don’t know what happened.” Sherlock was completely embarrassed now, how in the world had Donovan managed to get him to just spill his secret without pressure? Sherlock wanted to cry, he really wanted to cry. His eyes were welling up because John was mad at him and it was the end of everything. “It wore off on John.”

Donovan began to laugh all over again, staggering back against the filthy alley wall and just howling with mirth, “ _This is the best day ever_! I bet it was a real potion too, and not one of those spells you read in pulp romance books.”

“I’m glad to provide levity.” Sherlock tried to walk away but Donovan caught him by the arm, “What do you want?”

“You really are a twat Holmes but John….you need help and I don’t really want to explain why but I’m going to give it to you.”

“Give me what.” Donovan was looking at Sherlock almost fondly.

“ _Advice_. You don’t need potions to make John feel things. You already have everything you need, so no more potions. He wants to trust you, you’re his best friend. Use that big brain of yours and figure out how to earn his trust back and let the rest happen naturally. God you’re an idiot.”

“That’s it? That’s the quantifiable sum of your years of philandering? Thank you Donovan, I will take your advice and do with it what I must.” Sherlock stormed away still embarrassed and a tiny bit weepy but that was because of the potion to which he was clearly allergic! He was demonstrating clear health related symptoms, his heart refused to beat regularly, he was out of breath frequently, his skin was very warm especially in the cheek, ear, and forehead regions, the light seemed particularly cruel, and his stomach was very upset. The toxins from the potion were obviously extra efficacious when used on someone as highly evolved as himself! John was a caveman and had clearly just shrugged off the subtler effects. Donovan followed, “John is very angry. I tried to make him dinner and he got angrier.”

“You’d just drugged him!” exclaimed Donovan, “He’s not going to eat anything he can’t trust, not now!”

“That’s what he said and now I believe John is leaving.” Sherlock’s bottom lip did _not_ tremble. It didn’t. His eyes did _not_ spill over for a second, not at all. It was cold in the alley and he’d been caught by an errant breeze that made his eyes water. He was trembling with cold. Sherlock buttoned his coat up tight and made a show of re-tying his scarf.

Donovan looked at him with something akin to pity, “Why did you do it?” Sherlock couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t really explain why he’d thought it was such a good idea. The epiphany had happened so long ago and Sherlock couldn’t tell her the thousand and one things that had happened since then that made it seem even more necessary. “Listen Sherlock, you know John Watson better than any person on earth, do to yourself what you always do to everyone else, deduce the situation. You’ll figure out what to do. Go on Holmes. Go get your man.”

Rolling his eyes Sherlock strode away. He was thinking and he needed to walk. Making his way through endless alleys and into more heavily populated streets Sherlock Holmes went to work inside his own head and tried to understand his motives. Why had it seemed so urgent to use this potion on John? What had happened to make Sherlock so susceptible? The potion was supposed to make John experience the exhilarating euphoria of new love but Sherlock was only supposed to be the object of affection. In no way had he planned to _reciprocate_ the sentiment! Sherlock Holmes in love! Preposterous!

Except that he was. Sherlock went through all the markers he’d identified during his many studies and he undeniably demonstrated each and every characteristic of someone deeply, passionately in love. He didn’t know what to do! Sherlock could not think clearly, he wanted to be near John and hold him tight, kiss his short neat hair and possibly cuddle a….wait. No, John would not enjoy that, John was very angry with Sherlock; this was about making John happy, not about satisfying Sherlock’s spell-induced needs!

Suddenly Sherlock stopped walking. He was in the middle of a park but he’d just had an amazing thought. He didn’t need to explain to himself why he needed the spell; he needed to explain to John the chain of events! It was so simple. John was angry because he didn’t understand, of course he didn’t understand, Sherlock hadn’t shown him anything. John hated being kept in the dark, it made him feel as if Sherlock didn’t consider him able to understand something but it was never the truth; once possessed of the facts John very often made incredibly astute observations. Oh! Donovan was right, Sherlock was an idiot. Turning on a well-shoed heel Sherlock made his way back to Baker Street.

John was in his room banging around. He came downstairs with a small suitcase and a very grim expression, “I’m going to stay….”

“No you’re not. You’re staying home and we’re discussing this like rational human beings. Staying at Harry’s or Stamford’s or wherever isn’t going to solve this and you know it. All that will happen is both of us will spend all our time apart with questions only the other can answer! Going away will only make things worse John. We’re going to talk and sort this out. If you still feel the need to move out after that then I’ll have to live with that decision.” Sherlock was very aware of how John thought. Subtly did not work on John though he understood ramifications almost instinctively, Sherlock was normally careful to speak very literally to his flatmate and keeper of his heart. Sherlock was certain this was the correct choice.

John seemed to disagree, “I’m fucking pissed with you Sherlock and I’m not going to be rational about whatever excuse you’ve managed to come up with! I’m so disappointed right now. You promised Sherlock, you promised! You’ve broken your word to me and I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t trust anything you say.”

Sherlock protested instantly, not wanting John to say something he’d regret, “Stop John, stop, I didn’t experiment on you, it wasn’t an experiment. I haven’t broken my word. I know how it looks but at least give me a chance to explain and then you’ll at least know what you’re really mad about.”

John’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the handle of his suitcase hard. “This better be good. Start explaining Sherlock Holmes.”

John sat down in his chair with a forbidding expression, his suitcase parked firmly in front of him as a stark reminder to Sherlock of what was in the balance. “I was in eastern Europe when I came across a manuscript. I’d been hiding in a cave and it was just lying there on the floor. The region I was in was dry and the booked was covered in dust but it was in perfect order. I took it with me and when I had time I learned how to read it. It contained a formula and an intriguing promise. I would gain my heart’s secret desire.”

“Is this your way of telling me you love me because you’re not winning romance points with me so far.”

“No John, I mean, yes, but that’s not the way it went. Please, just listen.” Sherlock collected his thoughts for a moment, “I was obsessed with the book. It kept me sane while I was pretending to be dead. You already know what I was doing but there were long periods of time in between missions and with that time I deciphered the formula and began to assemble the ingredients. It was fascinating. The process was fascinating John, I couldn’t stop. For the longest time it was the research, the mystery of the book itself and not the eventual use that was important to me but the closer I got to finishing it the more I began to realize it’s potential.”

“What’s that then, to have me enslaved in perpetual tea-making hell with you?” John wasn’t any less angry.

“No John, please just listen. I had to assemble the ingredients. As I traveled the world I found one item after another and I smuggled all of it back here. I’ve been working on this formula the entire time I’ve been back and in that time I’ve had more and more realizations, things I’d allowed myself time to think upon.”

“Still not knocking my socks off here.” said John though he actually did look somewhat calmer. He was getting control of his temper though he was still as angry as ever. John was amazing that way. He could take hold of his temper and tame it to his will, saving it for later where it would burn as hot as the instant it first burst into existence. Sherlock now worked to extinguish that potential explosion.

“While I was gone I became very aware of something I had not noticed so acutely. I was alone. I’ve been alone for most of my life but it was different. I realized it was _you_ John. You were my friend, you cared about me and you enjoyed being with me. I gave all of that up to save your life and while I was gone I realized I missed you. I missed being not alone. I know it’s unfair to put this on you because you have many friends whereas I have only one. Subconsciously I’ve waited for the day you will finally move on. It will happen, John one day you will want something _more_ and I will be alone forever after that.”

“You really are an idiot.”

“Clearly there’s some truth there but please let me finish.” begged Sherlock.

“I’m not leaving.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not leaving.”

“John you packed your suitcase up. It’s very misleading if you don’t mean to move out.”

“Well I’m pissed with you, that is not the same thing as wanting to leave home forever!” John was looking at Sherlock with irritation but at least he hadn’t taken a step toward the door. The doctor was quiet for a minute, “Say the last part again, the potion part.”

“I would gain my heart’s secret desire.”

“Those were the exact words?” What was John trying to get at? Sherlock nodded cautiously and wondered when John looked thoughtful instead of angry. “How do you feel?”

“Anxious. Worried. A bit panicked frankly. I’m still very concerned that you’re planning on moving away and I don’t like that idea one bit.” what in the world was wrong with Sherlock’s mouth! He never confessed like that!

“What else?” John was still looking thoughtful.

“Hopeful. You haven’t left yet. Edgy because I’m good at saying absolutely the worst things at the wrong time and I’m afraid I’m going to anger you all over again and I don’t like that either.” Okay something was definitely going on here.

“What do you think you would feel if I left.” asked John suddenly and Sherlock was taken aback.

“I’d be devastated. I’d feel desperate and probably reckless enough to do something you’d yell at me for afterward but I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I need to know you’re here John. I need to know you are home.”

“Really, I need to stay at the flat full-time now?”

“No that’s not what I meant at all. It’s not the same if you’re just away for work; I mean I need to know you’re _here_ , at home, living with me, _together_. Knowing that makes me feel…well…it lets me know I have a home to be in too and not just a place to stay.” Sherlock hadn’t even told himself that why was he telling John?

John’s expression softened and he looked almost sad now, “This _is_ your home Sherlock.”

“No John. 221 B Baker Street is just an address. _You_ are what makes it a home, _my_ home. Coming home is the only thing I worked toward the entire time I was gone. I missed being home John. I missed being with you.”

John sat silently for a long time considering Sherlock’s words. When he looked up John asked, “Why did you think you needed some kind of potion to get that?”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be silent as he tried to sort out his explanation but the words tugged themselves past his lips before he could organize them, “I know I would be the last person you chose John to be romantic with. I am everything you do not seek in a partner.”

“How do you know that for sure?” pressed John.

Sherlock pressed his lips together and didn’t want to look at the doctor but he couldn’t help himself and he answered, “In my entire life I have been incapable of interacting with anyone on a personal level. I was in my mid-thirties when we met and you were my first real friend. Most people make their first friend when they are merely children. I know nothing of how to satisfy a partner, nor do I make for an appealing bedmate. With care I can look presentable but without the masks my costumes afford me I am a poor specimen indeed, especially given that you prefer female company in the boudoir. Never once has anyone expressed a romantic interest in me though many have kindly taken the time to share their observations for improvements I should attempt.”

“You don’t think you’re attractive?” John sounded astounded and Sherlock sat back.

“I’ve been likened to several animals John and none of them were flattering. You prefer women who are plump, usually ginger, with aspirations of living in a suburb someday.” Sherlock knew how to collect data; he’d observed John for years. He had facts to back his claims up.

John looked very upset and Sherlock was chagrined, he should have kept his mouth shut about John’s preferences. He hadn’t been asked. “Sherlock, I think you are more than attractive. I think you’re very handsome.”

“John you don’t need to try and convince me of something that can’t possibly be true. I pay a lot of very good tailors a lot of money to deal with my presentation problems. You can’t argue with the facts. My skin is nearly colorless, my hair is remorselessly dark and it curls oddly, my neck is too long, my head is too big, don’t get me started on my hands, you’ve made ninety-two separate comments about the visibility of my ribs during our association, and I have to have my shoes custom made because apparently having long thin feet isn’t common. In our time together you have referred to me as scrawny, pasty, corpse-like, poodle-headed, ghostly, and there was the delightful Halloween we spent on a case where I let you choose our cover names. You kept calling me Vlad Tepes because I looked like a vampire and I wasn’t even wearing a costume. None of these facts inspire me to believe anything but what I’ve already been told by others. I am not attractive, especially not to straight-women-dating-ex-army doctors named John Hamish Watson.”

John looked very disturbed but pressed on, “Why did you trick me into drinking the potion, tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t realize it at the time but I wanted to know what it was like to be loved. No one has ever loved me except possibly for family and you’ve met Mycroft, so I was very much hoping that romantic love would be better. So far it’s not looking very promising.” Sherlock couldn’t look at John anymore. He was mortified with the information he was listening to himself give. “I suppose it’s because in truth I’m a very lonely man and I didn’t realize how awful that was until I had you as a friend and lost you for two long empty years. _I just wanted to come home_. I didn’t understand that I felt so horribly alone when I was gone not just because I missed my friend but because I missed the man I loved, the man who I know will never love me in return, at least, not that way. Lestrade is a friend, Hooper is a friend, even Mrs. Hudson is a friend. I never thought of giving any of them the potion, not even for a second. I wanted to experience this with you John, just you.”

“Why me?”

John was completely heartless and he would not stop! Sherlock began to answer, “Why not you? You are the best sort of person John. You have honor, integrity, grit, your virtues outweigh your vices, your deeds have been heroic, your sacrifices noble. You are brave, courageous, full of perseverance, and despite how life has grieved you, you are still able to forge poetry about the world around you.”

John looked at Sherlock like his heart was breaking, “I wish you hadn’t done this Sherlock. I wish you hadn’t given us that potion. I wish I could have heard you say something like this to me without having to be drugged into confessing. How can you be so observant and not have seen how much I care about you?”

Sherlock felt a wave of warmth wash over him. Suddenly the potions effects seemed to wane entirely and Sherlock almost slipped to the floor in relief, “John?”

“Sherlock? What just happened!”

“I think you broke my end of the spell. I feel…almost normal.” He felt anything but normal but Sherlock also didn’t feel compelled to answer each question John asked if he didn’t feel like it.

“What, I wished it away?” John looked perturbed.

“Possibly, it’s evident that I didn’t understand the manuscript as well as I’d assumed. However it seems that you can negate the less salubrious effects with certain phrases.” how many fairy-tales had the words _I wish_ in them?

John looked at Sherlock in silence for several minutes and Sherlock grew concerned. When John stood up Sherlock’s fears blossomed but John just said, “It’s really late. Today has been shit. I’m going to sleep.” John left but his suitcase remained where it was, still packed, still a threat. Sherlock looked nervously at it. John was right. It was late, neither of them seemed able to think about anything anymore. Sherlock stood, his eyes locked on John’s suitcase like it was a viper as he edged his way around. The detective washed up, his eyes cutting toward the upstairs where John had shut himself away for the night. With a weary and worried sigh Sherlock took himself away to sleep.

 


	2. Seeing and Observing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has gone and made John so incredibly angry that the detective is seriously worried John will leave Baker Street for good. What will Sherlock do to keep his best friend?

The next day was incredibly awkward. John wasn’t speaking to Sherlock but the detective was so relieved that John had put his suitcase away he didn’t press the issue at all. Instead he did his best to give John the space he needed to mull over everything he’d heard the day before. John wasn’t like Sherlock, especially when it came to personal matters; he didn’t just put the pieces together instantly and look at the whole picture. John toyed with the bits, understanding them one chunk at a time and when the picture was assembled John would sit back and think over everything all over again. It was very frustrating for Sherlock. He was in limbo over how to behave with John.

Whatever had happened to Sherlock because of the potion _clearly_ had residual effects he could not temper. Lestrade called them out for a case that evening and Sherlock was so thankful for something to do that would break the tension between them that they were in the taxi and on their way before he realized that _before_ he’d helped John into his seat and closed the door for him, _before_ he’d opened the door to the street and stepped aside so John could go first, _after_ having done the same as they’d left their flat, Sherlock had helped John into his coat and had even tucked John’s mobile firmly into his pocket. _What was that all about_? Sherlock was mystified and a bit concerned because John hadn’t said anything to stop him. Sherlock supposed objecting would have required words and John still wasn’t talking to him so Sherlock didn’t say anything either.

Donovan thankfully wasn’t there but Anderson was and Lestrade was tired and cranky, “I’m going home.” he announced the second they arrived, “Breaking and entering. Have fun.”

John stood there, annoyed, “This isn’t even a four! Lestrade?” John was talking to the DI’s back. Anderson stood there and looked as surprised as John but Sherlock just sighed. John glared at him and finally said, “What’s going on?”

“Favors.” was all Sherlock said. He couldn’t complain about Anderson. He had to solve the case no matter how plebeian it was. John looked disgruntled and turned his glare toward Anderson as if it was his fault that they were there for a case that had nothing to do with serial killers or other dangers, “It’s alright John, let’s just do this.” John’s visible irritation disappeared but Sherlock sighed inside. John was still very cross. Well, he had every right to be. Glumly Sherlock just got on with things.

It took longer to explain what had happened then it had to solve the case and John was the one who figured it out, “Her ex-husband. He’d be the only one likely to know she kept her valuables hidden in that particular teapot.” Of all the seemingly random things that were taken from the home the teapot had been the only item the tenant had fretted for. Anderson’s team had needed convincing so Sherlock swirled around and pointed out all the very obvious factors that led to someone finally tracking the man down, still fully possessed of said teapot and a small fortune in jewelry. It took so many repetitions to explain to the field team that even John was bored and Sherlock didn’t blame him. It hadn’t even taken the entire evening and the case was done.

“I’m not even writing this one up.” John refused to look at Sherlock.

“You should, you solved it. Your readers would enjoy that.” John really was a good detective when he gave himself a chance to really look. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of detaching himself from the distractions around him but when he focused John could be surprisingly perceptive.

“What, the _Case of the Missing Teapot_? That would be grand wouldn’t it? No, it’s alright Sherlock; the readers can wait for you to work a more difficult case. If I was able to solve it then it couldn’t have been very interesting.” Sherlock looked at John who had his face turned away from Sherlock but the taxi window reflected the image of a bitter looking doctor staring stonily out into the streets.

“I cannot criticize your choice of blog titles enough. I would think your readers would find this case right up your street, a crime by an ex-lover who tried to reclaim his tokens? Feelings John, a crime of passion, bloodless perhaps but still poignant,” they’d arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock paid the driver before looking at John, “Feelings are clearly _your_ area, and it is an area in which _I_ am most clearly clueless.”

Sherlock didn’t know what else to do. He thought John would have been proud to have solved the case but instead the doctor put himself down. Sherlock just didn’t know what to say to that, John’s self-image had always been a good one he’d thought. Clearly there were issues Sherlock had chosen to not see, and he cursed himself again for being susceptible to such hubris. He thought on it as he held the door open for John and followed his doctor up to their flat where Sherlock unlocked the door and held it open for John while he considered the facts as he saw them. He was still analyzing their past interactions when he helped John out of his coat before sitting himself on the sofa for a good long think.

Sherlock drank the tea that appeared sometime later and without realizing, ate the sandwich that arrived with the second cup of tea. John was insecure and Sherlock needed to figure out a way to help his best friend get over this incredibly silly attitude. Finally Sherlock had an idea. He shrugged off the blanket that had somehow sprouted around his shoulders and tugged off the one that had magically appeared on his lap. When had that happened? It was three in the morning and Sherlock picked up John’s laptop which was conveniently on the coffee table in front of him. Opening it up Sherlock began to write quickly.

_Steeped in Sentiment_

_It took John Watson only four minutes and thirty seven seconds to solve the case. That is exactly how long we stood in the doorway of a residence that had experienced a break and entry this evening. By my estimation it would have taken me an additional three minutes to solve by my method of deduction. Doctor Watson took one look at the scene and understood instantly what had occurred. It took twenty-seven minutes for me to explain the details to New Scotland Yard, an additional forty-two minutes to converge on the suspect’s house, and only ten minutes to arrest him and retrieve the stolen items. All of this happened because John Watson understood how the human heart works._

_Doctor Watson is of course anatomically aware of the heart, schooled in all the ways that organ can become weak or ill, but he is also aware of how a heart can be worn out, how it can be broken and sometimes never mended, and how sometimes the heart leads you to do seemingly heartless things, like steal an old woman’s jewels, her remnants of a time gone past. John saw and understood that what was taken wasn’t for its monetary value but for the sentiment behind it. That understanding led to the solution of this case in a single evening because one man has a heart so great he can feel the whole world and understood that a missing teapot was more than just absent crockery, it was a vessel that contained something irreplaceable. It wasn’t the riches of the items represented that mattered so much, it was the memories each piece signified that were precious to both parties. John understood, and after he pointed it out, I understood too. Case closed._

Sherlock shut the laptop down after posting and took himself to bed. He needed to figure out how to win John’s trust back, to let things blossom naturally between them. Sherlock had made a very terrible mistake and now it was up to him to fix it. Donovan said he had everything he needed already, she wasn’t _that_ astute so what was Sherlock missing? What was the hidden thing that would let him repair the breach between them? With many sighs Sherlock tossed and turned for a long time before closing his eyes and drifting fitfully off to sleep.

When Sherlock woke late the next morning John was unhappy in an all new way, “You posted on my blog.” he said coldly. The doctor was standing in the front room. He was already dressed for the day but his shoulders were hunched forward, his fingers balled up as if John were struggling to still them.

Sherlock was still blurry from sleep, his voice soft and tired still, “Last night yes, you said you weren’t going to write the case up.” It had been up for hours now. Why was John so agitated?

“There are hundreds of comments.” said John with irritation, “You wrote _one_ bloody entry and you got _hundreds_ of comments! Clearly you are a better writer than I am so why do you need me to blog for you? You should do it yourself!” John was offended?

“I wanted people to see how you are able to do something I am not! This is why we work so well as a team, the amount of comments we receive is irrelevant! I don’t like it when you underestimate your contributions to our partnership.” John’s expression shifted to one of only mild suspicion now so Sherlock continued, “John you have always helped me solve cases, why do you think otherwise? Why do you think I insist upon your presence? I don’t need you to _blog_ about my cases! _I need you with me to solve them_! You know me well enough to realize that I am a very selfish man and if something is not immediately advantageous to me I will not trouble myself. Having you by my side gives me _every_ advantage, how can you not see that? You are valuable John Watson. You are necessary.”

John’s face went a little pink but the soldier didn’t see Sherlock’s smile because he turned away suddenly and went to the kitchen where Sherlock heard the unmistakable sounds of tea being prepared. The only acknowledgement Sherlock received about his compliment was, “Breakfast will be in ten minutes and you _are_ eating.” _Yes Captain_. Sherlock didn’t even remark on how John had restocked the refrigerator with pre-sealed single-serving packages of items, a small but obvious reminder that John didn’t even trust Sherlock to not meddle with their food. Sherlock felt terrible all over again and set his mind back to figuring out how to earn John’s trust once more.

John had only begun his day-off routine when they received another call from Lestrade and Sherlock merely asked for the address. It didn’t matter what the case was, he’d agreed and Sherlock was going to keep his word. Lestrade waited for them at the entrance to a block of flats; “You’ll need to suit up.” he said and looked at Sherlock’s patent leather shoes. Sherlock sniffed but John just pulled on the paper suit over his clothes and part of Sherlock’s promise was not complaining so he didn’t. He felt ridiculous in the obscuring getup and he was sure that being made to wear it was the whole reason Lestrade had made him come today. With the goggles on Sherlock actually blended in with everyone and he didn’t like that. He could tell who John was easily, even if he could only see the back of his head. No one walked like John, not so casually yet so dangerously. John was a kitten before he turned into a wildcat that would rip you to pieces, Sherlock had seen _that_ the day they’d met and it had never failed to fascinate him. He pushed past John who followed him with ease.

It was very messy. Desecration of what vaguely appeared to be a woman had continued over a long period of time. The smell of the room was absolutely dreadful and the newcomers gagged; everyone except John and Sherlock. The soldier was alert, his eyes darting around as quickly as Sherlock’s. Shoulder to shoulder they walked the scene, careful not to disturb the evidence. Sherlock could hear Anderson by the door, “It’s creepy, that’s all I’m saying. It’s creepy. The doctor used to be so _normal_ , now he’s more like _him_ all the time. Look at them, bloody joined at the hip they are.”

“Shut it Anderson.” Donovan’s request surprised John enough that the doctor actually glanced over to her. She was busy inspecting the blood-spatter near the end of the sofa. They were in large open room, the kitchen was only separated by an extended counter and the body lay right in the center of the floor. The building was tall enough that the neighboring buildings couldn’t quite see into this particular flat, and the smell had been obscured by dozens of scented candles that made the air ripe with smoke.

Once the body had been examined and photographed John and Sherlock waited while it was removed to search for further clues. John needed to go outside to speak to one of the Yarders and Sherlock felt oddly adrift in the crowd of faceless people in their matching paper suits and face masks. Sherlock was just considering moving near the door so John would find it easier to locate him when the soldier appeared behind him, “All done.” he said in clipped tones. Sherlock nodded. They’d gathered all the information they could so there was nothing to do but go back to Baker Street to look over their photos and wait for results to come back from the lab.

They were back home when something needed to be asked, “How did you find me so quickly when you returned? There were several people in the room, how did you know which one was me?” There had been several men of a height with Sherlock as well. John was reading the paper, lifting it but not before Sherlock saw a quirk of a smile, “John?”

John was quiet for a second before he said, “Your arse.” _What?_ “It’s pretty identifiable, especially without your coat on. No one at the Yard has an arse like yours.” Sherlock’s cheeks flamed up and he struggled to sip his tea calmly, pretending that John hadn’t just admitted to knowing Sherlock’s behind well enough to pick it out in a crowd.

“I see.”

“So did I.” John’s newspaper didn’t move a bit which was just as well because Sherlock’s cheeks flamed up all over again and he had to retire to his bedroom to regain his composure. What in the world was wrong with him? Had he lost control over his self-possession entirely? Sherlock dallied by changing into his pajamas and robe. He planned on thinking over the facts of the case today and wanted to be comfortable. He stalled for as long as he could.

Finally he had to go back out. The crime scene photos were in the living room, sitting on the coffee table right in front of John who was still reading his newspaper and sipping his tea. Sherlock drew in a deep breath and let it out. This was John, just John. Sherlock had worked hundreds of cases in front of John, this was no different. Thus braced internally Sherlock tied his robe a tiny bit tighter and gracefully took his normal seat on the sofa. _So far, so good_. Sherlock reached down and picked up the first file, and began to read.

He was fully engrossed in the case when he saw his teacup disappear. Good, he needed a fresh cuppa. He bent his head and kept focused. There wasn’t much he could say with certainty until the barrage of test results came back but he still committed details to memory, examining as many factors as he could fathom. He felt a nudge on his arm and reached his hand out to accept a piping hot cup, “Thank you.” he said absently.

“You’re welcome.” John was sitting beside him now. How long had John been on the sofa with him? The doctor was reading a different file, his brow knitted together adorably as he considered the details in front of him. Finally John asked, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock blinked and examined John’s face with a small frown. He was neatly groomed as always. He had shaved that morning, there was no shaving cream left anywhere, nor traces of anything else. “I don’t see anything,” Sherlock replied eventually, still puzzled.

“I only ask because you’ve been staring at me.” John’s eyes didn’t move from the file in front of him.

Sherlock’s head whipped straight forward and away from John, “Oh. Apologies John,” _Control yourself man_! Sherlock chided himself. Would that potion ever wear off? How long would its effects linger? “Perhaps I should just…”

“I don’t mind.” said John calmly, still reading carefully, “If that’s what it takes to help you focus.”

Oh. Well that was actually very helpful. Sherlock had planned on retiring to his bedroom , taking all the files with him but if John didn’t actually mind if Sherlock sometimes _accidentally_ stared at him then, “You’re sure?” he asked cautiously. Surely this wasn’t on. John was always giving Sherlock little talks about propriety.

“Yes.” John was unflinching. He just sat there calmly reading one page after another. A bit nervously Sherlock shifted his position so he could see John easier. He flipped open a fresh file and bent his head to read. When he was done he lifted his eyes again and fixed his gaze on the side of John’s face. He felt a great calm settle over him as the facts churned and danced in his head. It was very soothing being able to look upon John with impunity. Seeing John’s face always made that little empty spot in Sherlock’s heart feel full again, seeing John’s face always made Sherlock feel like he was really home. Tranquil once more Sherlock picked up the next file and the next, the hours flying by as Sherlock indulged in long lingering looks that sustained him as he took himself away again and again to his mind palace to sort and analyze everything they knew so far. It was a great deal but nothing substantive.

By the time they’d gone over the very last photo it was late in the afternoon and John was hungry. “I’m ordering in and you’re eating.” _Yes Captain_. Once again Sherlock did not argue.

“Use my card.” offered Sherlock and John nodded his head, moving into the kitchen to place their order and to make tea. Sherlock was relieved the John had accepted. He was a proud man and very seldom allowed Sherlock to pay for things. Guiltily Sherlock realized that John had been feeding him for ages now on his slim paycheque. Doctors could earn a very decent living except John seldom had time to be at the clinic. He was always working with Sherlock and Sherlock had a second realization. He’d never offered the use of their earnings to John! How utterly selfish of him! He didn’t particularly use the money. Sherlock wasn’t interested in his savings; it was the cases that interested him. He paid his portion of the lease directly to Mrs. Hudson once a year out of his trust fund whereas John struggled from month to month to make his end. Mycroft had some kind of plan covering Sherlock’s mobile for national security reasons but John still paid for the numerous calls Sherlock had made on his mobile, never once protesting. Sherlock didn’t really pay for anything else substantial except for what he used to pay off his homeless network and paying for supplies for his experiments. Suddenly Sherlock was entirely ashamed of himself. What a poor friend he was and yet he entertained thoughts of wooing John? No, Sherlock was far from ready to launch his suit to win John’s heart properly. He had so many amends to make first.

Checking his mobile he found it was still early enough to just get the banks and by dint of using yet another favor he was owed Sherlock made an appointment to discuss his accounts the very next day. He should have taken care of this years ago, what was wrong with him? The more he thought about it the worse he felt. He had withheld hard earned and probably much needed money from his best friend, and he’d done it simply because he couldn’t be bothered with what he considered to be trivial details. Well, they might be trivial to Sherlock but he knew John well enough to understand that money wasn’t trivial to him. Sherlock went to the kitchen and examined John.

The doctor was dressed as normal. His clothes were plain and sturdy, well cared for but very obviously much worn. How long had it been since John had treated himself to something nice to wear? Ever? Sherlock cast back through his mind palace and couldn’t bring forward a single instance of John bringing home anything special to wear. The jumper he’d gotten the day they drank the potion could hardly be counted as something nice, though John did have a bit of flair about him when he strutted around in his entirely hideous jumpers. Sherlock thought further. All the doctor’s clothes were practical, interchangeable with one another so a few items could work many ways with one another, affording John a larger seeming wardrobe. Nearly everything Sherlock wore came from high-end fashion houses or were bespoke. John owned three coats and one jacket, he’d worn all of them since he’d moved in and probably before then as well. Sherlock had a separate wardrobe for his outerwear and it was changed seasonally, Mummy insisted. Even John’s slippers were worn, his big toe on his left foot was nearly rubbed through. Sherlock’s sense of self-worth took a hard hit. His slippers were custom-made and new. He’d gotten them from Mycroft for his last birthday and he hadn’t even said thank you. John wouldn’t want fashionable clothing but even he would have enjoyed being able to get something current to wear! Sherlock wondered what he could do to rectify the situation further. John might not appreciate Sherlock giving him a whole new wardrobe but he sorely needed one. He was a doctor _and_ a war-hero! He deserved better than twice mended trousers and frayed jumpers! Sherlock set a portion of his mind palace to dealing with a resolution. “Finished memorizing me yet?” asked John, setting down his mobile.

“No.” Sherlock blinked and realized he should probably say more than that, “I was lost in thought.” He wondered for a second, “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I managed to get a full shift in at the clinic, why? Do you have a case? Do you need me to reschedule?”

“No, nothing like that, I’ll be out doing errands for part of tomorrow.” Sherlock had an idea. It would be little harsh but he might be able to pull it off. “I’ve got an all-day experiment to run as well, it will be a bit ripe. I’ll keep the window in your room open, it’s best we’re both gone anyway.” Sherlock would make sure to wrap that up early enough so he could air the flat out properly before John came back, maybe he could make some kind of neutralizing solution to eliminate the foul odors.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll pick up dinner on the way home.” Suddenly the solution to all of it came together in Sherlock’s head. He knew how he could get John to accept a gift of this size without wounding his pride very much, hopefully without wounding it at all.

“I’ll take care of dinner John, text me before you leave work.” Sherlock picked up his mobile, took a deep breath and sent off a text. He’d need help if his plan was to work. He got an instant reply, and after reading it he sent of the answers to the questions he’d gotten. That was the easy part of the plan taken care of. Now for a little bit of actual effort, “I’ve got some calls to make.”

“Right, I’ll call you when the food arrives.” Sherlock nodded at John and took his leave to make his way to his bedroom. Closing the door Sherlock even took the precaution of locking it. John could not walk in on him while he did this.

Sherlock had to sneak a cigarette by his window before he hit a key and heard the call connect, “Mummy?” The call was long and filled with many interruptions and by the time it was done Sherlock’s hair was puffed up wildly from the amount of times he’d torn at it in frustration again and again as he tried to explain things to his mother. Finally John was calling with dinner and Sherlock had to end the conversation, “One week at the most, I’m not doing the entire season.”

“That will be entirely suitable my son. Expect your brother shortly.” Sherlock sighed as he made his farewells and ended the call. It could have been worse but now there was dinner with John and that lifted Sherlock’s spirits considerably.

“There you are! I thought I was going to have to send an expedition after you.” John looked irritated.

“Apologies John, I was just finishing a call.” Sherlock sat in his normal seat at the table and John slid a plate of food in front of him. The portions weren’t generous but there were a lot of items. Gamely Sherlock began to eat, John had given him just enough to make him feel a tiny bit over full but since Sherlock rarely ate more than one complete meal a day it probably wouldn’t hurt to make it a decently sized one.

Both of them heard Mrs. Hudson cooing from downstairs, “Your brother is here!” Mycroft preferred to show up at their door unannounced but Mrs. Hudson had taken to calling him up despite his many requests that she not do so. It always made John and Sherlock giggle and this time was no different.

United once again in their mutual dislike of the very interfering holder of his minor position in government John and Sherlock quickly went to the sofa and sat down. John snapped his paper open just as Mycroft rapped on their door, “It’s open.” called John. Neither of them was getting up to work the door-knob for Mycroft!

“Good-day gentlemen.” said Mycroft with a small pleased smile, completely unoffended by their behaviour. In fact the man looked a little too delighted to be there and that made Sherlock nervous. “I won’t be long, just a small matter to acquaint you with.”

“How can we help, dear brother?” said Sherlock although he knew why Mycroft was there. It was all up to John now. He tried not to look at his best friend, pretending instead to be normally irritated with his brother, “We don’t have any cake, so what is it?”

“Amusing brother mine, very amusing, no I’m here for the best of reasons, _blood_. Mummy has sent out her requests for the annual gathering this holiday and has specifically requested that _you_ attend this year. Apparently much of the family still believes you are dead and though it is terrible to shatter their dreams during Christmas you are bidden to appear and demonstrate your continued existence.”

That wasn’t the deal Sherlock had made. Mummy had upped the stakes dramatically. There was no way to bargain, no way to backpedal. Mummy had the advantage and Sherlock cursed not being able to outmaneuver her, “I’m not going to Christmas dinner.” he said flatly. This was the event he’d particularly wanted to _avoid_ not the one he wanted to commit to!

Mycroft looked even happier, “Oh no dear brother, it’s not just the family dinner. It’s the _entire_ week before Christmas. She is expecting you and your companion. Doctor Watson, you are formally invited to attend the Holmes Christmas gathering this holiday season as the partner to my dearest brother.”

John stared suspiciously at Mycroft, “Why would your mum want me at your family dinner?”

Mycroft was enjoying himself far too much, “Doctor Watson, you have been a faithful friend to her youngest son for years, you play a large part in his everyday life, _of course_ she invited you. She would be very offended if you could not make it. Of course, you might have family plans of your own already. Do you have plans for this upcoming Christmas?”

Both John and Sherlock scowled at Mycroft. That was an unkind jab. John had no family to spend Christmas with, not anymore. “No.” said John tightly. “It was just going to be me and Sherlock this year.” _Oh_. They could have had a quiet Christmas together! Sherlock had never regretted going with an impulse so much! It must be the residual potion that was still affecting his judgement. Why in blazes had he thought calling Mummy would do any good?

Mycroft stood, “There you have it then. You are both free, are expected, and it will be delightful.” Mycroft made his way to the door and before it closed he called one last comment over his shoulder, “Formal dinners Sherlock, you know what that means.”

Sherlock hung his head. Mummy could not have made this worse for him. John tapped his shoulder, “What does that mean _formal dinners_?”

“It means you need new clothes John, lots of them. Mummy is…well she’s a bit particular. As much as I love them you’re not going to be able to get away with jumpers and trousers for an entire week.”

John jumped right up to stare down at Sherlock with dismay, “How am I supposed to be able to get together a week’s worth of clothes? How long do we have between now and then? I’m going to have to work full time at the clinic to be able to afford this and even if I could save enough there’s not enough time to get anything fitted properly, not for a whole week’s worth of dinners!” John was working himself up into an indignant froth. They had several weeks to prepare.

“John! John please calm yourself. This is my fault and I can fix this. Don’t worry about the clothing. I can deal with that if you’ll let me. Please? Will you trust me with this?” Sherlock was pleading. He wanted to get John new clothing but not like this! He’d imagined some kind of slow reveal, a gradual introduction of one item after another until John was covered from head to toe in gifts from Sherlock. Instead it was now a chore, an imposition, something else John would have to endure because of him.

“I don’t want to ponce around for a week looking like a tit!” shouted John. Sherlock’s heart sank. He couldn’t make John go, couldn’t force him to accept his offer. John sighed heavily and scrubbed his face with his hands, “Alright. You at least know what I’ll put up with but the second you make me look like one of those twats Mycroft does business with you and I are going to have words!”

Relief coursed through Sherlock. John was letting him help! “You can rely on me John, I swear everything I find for you will be appropriate to wear during the visit and will conform to your personal tastes. I promise.” There. He’d promised _and_ sworn.

“I appreciate this Sherlock. I’ll pay you back for whatever this costs.”

“Nonsense John, you didn’t ask for this invitation, you shouldn’t have to be put out at all because of this. I told you I would take care of it and I will.” John looked slightly mollified but still uneasy with the idea of Sherlock doing this, “You are doing me a very great favor John, clothing is the most meagre way to repay you for it, it doesn’t even come close! You have no idea! A whole week John, a whole week with people that make Mycroft seem like a nice person! I had no idea people could be _kind_ until after I was done with university!” Sherlock didn’t realize how distressed he had become until the last word flew from his mouth. He’d met Mrs. Hudson while on vacation with other graduates. He didn’t even like them; it was just a reason to go abroad for a bit with others who also enjoyed vast amounts of illegal narcotics, and to maybe find something to do that wasn’t boring. He had. He’d helped her and found his true calling. He’d left his family behind and had never looked back.

John looked immediately concerned, all his rancour and irritation completely erased as he sat beside Sherlock and to the detective’s amazement, took his hands in his, “Hey, calm down. I’m going, I’ll be there with you. I can’t say I’m surprised to hear about what your family is like. Your brother is a piece of work and he didn’t get that way just by annoying you right from day one.” To Sherlock’s greater surprised John tugged him close and let Sherlock rest his head on John’s shoulder, speaking softly into Sherlock’s ear, “Harry was always a hard one to be with when we were growing up and family dinners were the nastiest. We only had distant cousins but mum would always pack us up and take us off to stay with one family or another all through Christmas and it was always the worst. I was always the smallest, I got roughed up a lot during the games and I didn’t have anyone to watch my back. Harry thought it was hilarious and she never once stepped in to stop them. If I’d had a best friend back then who could have gone through all of that with me it would have made everything so much easier. Of course I’ll come with you Sherlock.”

Sherlock was amazed once more at the good-hearted and loyal nature that made John the most extraordinary person he had ever met. John was unwavering, his gaze steady and sincere. Sherlock knew he hadn’t earned John’s forgiveness about the potion but John wouldn’t let that interfere with their friendship, that’s how big a person he was. Sherlock let his arms creep around John’s torso and felt relieved when John hugged him back, “Thank you. I…thank you John.” Sherlock was a bit angry with himself. He hadn’t thought this through at all and now Mummy was dragging him back into her world and it was entirely his own fault. To make things worse he was dragging John in with him and for clothes! Sherlock sat up, determined to make right his latest mistake, “When is your next day off?”

“Two days from now, why?” John let Sherlock pull away to pace around the room, “Why Sherlock?”

“Clothing John, you’ll need to be measured. I’ll want to check around first before we select anything. Two days gives me enough time.” His initial call this evening would provide him a short-list to be utilized much faster than he’d anticipated but there was no help for it now. This was such a mess. Sherlock paced back and forth rapidly now, anxiety beginning to build as his mind raced. This wasn’t what he wanted at all, _why why why_ had he called his mother? He never called Mummy! Now not only would John have to go away during the holidays with a man he was still furious with but he’d be forced to endure being exposed to the Holmes family at their finest. Sherlock began to despair. There was only so much a person would endure and Sherlock had already pushed John far over the border. Clothing was a paltry thank-you. John deserved a five star vacation in the hot-spot of his choice for having to endure Christmas dinner with Sherlock’s family.

Sherlock sighed. He had a case to solve, a flatmate to shop for, a romance to somehow encourage, and Christmas dinner with his entire family to endure. John was now ensconced on his chair, having popped in another one of his favorite movies which he claimed he loved for the special effects. Sherlock tucked himself into his own chair, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs as he began to think. Even as his mind focused and drifted away from the reality around him Sherlock’s eyes drifted over to John’s face and silently began to go over every inch of it while his thoughts meandered and explored.

 

 


	3. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking the potion has made life considerably more difficult for the once emotionally austere detective and it's creating difficulties that seem to grow worse instead of better.

Faced with a common enemy it seemed that John Watson had set aside all his potion-related anger to rally beside Sherlock with implacable determination, saying not another word about their disagreement. Sherlock had woken up in the flat alone, the doctor long gone for his shift. He’d left a cold breakfast assembled so Sherlock made himself tea and dutifully ate every crumb before getting ready for the day. He’d set up his experiment and once it was bubbling and stewing appropriately he set a timer on his mobile, opened the window in John’s room, and left the flat for the duration. He’d catalogue the results when he got home but first there was business to take care of.

Sherlock went to the bank for his appointment. It took some time and the input from more than one person but eventually a small stack of paperwork was prepared and dispatched to the clinic along with a young barrister who would return them as soon as John had signed. Sherlock made another call once that appointment was done and set up a meeting with a very dignified man later in the week. As expected Mycroft rang the second Sherlock disconnected the call, “Really Sherlock? Isn’t that a bit….premature?” Sherlock could hear the smirk in his brother’s voice and despised it.

“I have no idea what you are going on about Mycroft.” he said blandly.

“First the meeting at the bank and now a call to your personal barrister? You don’t find this to be somewhat hasty? After all, you have no idea if your…partner…is ready for this sort of legal entanglement.” Mycroft was a smug hateful bastard! Sherlock wished he would just leave him alone but hopelessly he knew Mycroft never would.

“Oh dear, I must have forgotten to charge my mobile, it looks like the power is go…” Sherlock childishly ended the call and stuffed his mobile into his pocket. He had shops to visit and decisions to make. He hadn’t been to a family gathering in years but there was no forgetting the long tedious dinners, or the endless spiteful conversations that tangled and fought with one another. John was going to be exposed to all of that for seven full days and Sherlock desperately needed to arm his friend in every way possible. With new determination Sherlock firmly put his brother’s taunts aside and went shopping.

John called him as Sherlock approached the first clothier, “Sherlock, I’m on my lunch break and some toff in a suit says I have to sign a bunch of papers from your bank. Why?”

Sherlock sighed, “John I’ve made you an equal partner for our consultations. Problem?”

“You just want me to take care of all your bills!” complained the doctor with irritation.

“Partially John, put your mobile on the list, I use it more than you do, also there’s groceries to consider, all our work-related cab rides, plus repair bills to the flat.”

 _“You haven’t gotten any repairs done to the flat!”_ John was shouting quietly into the phone. Sherlock didn’t know many people who could be softly loud but John managed. It must be from his time in the army, there was always a touch of command in his voice during times like this. Sherlock supressed a frisson of heat that bloomed, this was neither the time nor place for distractions.

“I _know_ John, you constantly point that out! Now _you_ can get it done and stop badgering me about it. Use all the money you want, it’s ours.” Sherlock was becoming exasperated. Why didn’t John just sign and get on with his day?

“You are a lazy shit Sherlock Holmes!” hissed the doctor angrily.

“Well either you do it or Mycroft steps in to act as Trustee to our residence!” Sherlock shouted back, frustrated at last, and John groaned. 221B Baker Street was listed, repairs needed to be done in compliance with a thousand rules. That was most of the reason Sherlock hadn’t done it though he’d promised Mrs. Hudson he would. He’d just never said when. If Mycroft stepped in he would think nothing of displacing John and Sherlock completely throughout the entire process, forcing them to live elsewhere while he restored the flat as slowly as possible.

“No. That arrogant sod gets _no_ say in how we live. _Fine_ , I’ll sign your stupid papers _and_ I’m going to restock the pantry. You left a jar in there and now there’s something green climbing up the side panel.” Sherlock covered his eyes with one hand. He’d forgotten the mold culture. The cupboard was the only space in the kitchen that was consistently warm enough to cultivate something. He would have to think of an alternative.

“I’ll clean that up before you get back. Where do you want dinner from?” Sherlock knew that despite John’s solidarity on Sherlock’s behalf he still wasn’t going to eat anything Sherlock had cooked. John named a take-away they both liked and ended the call.

Sherlock went to the first business on his list to examine their selection. He frowned and tried to imagine John wearing each item. It was jarring. John would look like a pretender in these! The patterns on the shirts were wrong for him, the overall color schemes would not work for him and there wasn’t a jumper in sight that Sherlock thought were better than the horrific eyesores John currently wore. He left, refusing to even speak to the associates who tried to assist him.

He went to another place. This was better. The colors were sober; the materials fine and well cut, the patterns bold but not mincing. _John was a doctor and a soldier_ , he reminded himself, _he needs to look it_. Sherlock went through the selection carefully and set aside several samples of anything he thought were suitable and organized a fitting for John’s day off. This was just the beginning though, casual clothes were easy. Getting him into a suit, never mind several suits, was going to be a challenge. John hated dressing up. He liked to be comfortable and he was very secure with his overall appearance, generally choosing something fun to wear. He had at least two jumpers with animals on them and his Christmas jumper from last season had been removed from the doctor’s room and burned in the alley at Sherlock’s first opportunity so John wouldn’t wear it a second year. With a sigh Sherlock realized he’d need to replace it in order to further placate the soldier who still didn’t know it had been destroyed.

It was gruelling. The shop assistants kept trying to urge Sherlock to consider the latest fashions, all of which were entirely inappropriate for John who suited a classic look so obstinately Sherlock argued his way through one collection after another until he had visited a dozen different locations, organizing a barrage of fittings for John to attend. Sherlock would need to attend each session to ensure John wasn’t talked into wearing something that might give the Holmes family a chance to pick at the good doctor. He checked his mobile. John was already en route home. Sherlock cursed, called the restaurant to place their order, found a taxi and hurried back to 221 B Baker Street.

The flat smelled horrific. Sherlock had forgotten to come back early to clean and fumigate. He cursed himself again, opening all the windows as much as possible, quickly making notes of the results and binning the rest of the experiment. He was just returning from disposing the bag in the bin in the alley when John arrive, “Bloody hell it stinks in here!” The bell to the street rang so Sherlock had no chance to apologize. He ran downstairs and fetched back their dinner, stopping in surprise as John met him at the door with their shock blanket balled up with four beers peeking out of the folds, “Let’s eat on the roof, it’s still nice out.”

Oh, well that actually would be nicer that trying to gag down their meal inside the flat. Sherlock followed John up the narrow stairs that led to a small flat space on the roof that Mrs. Hudson normally used to air out linens. John spread out the shock blanket and sat down so Sherlock awkwardly folded himself up and sat on the opposite corner facing John. John had grabbed forks as well so soon they were digging into their cartons and enjoying dinner while it was hot. There was a tiny bit of a breeze and they could hear the sounds of the city all around them but it was private and almost intimate to be dining together. There was a small wall that lined the edge of the space, so John and Sherlock were completely hidden from the buildings around them. They’d just finished up when Sherlock’s mobile cheeped, “Lestrade.”

The game was on once again. Without a hint of protest John bundled up the remains of their dinner, packed everything away and was soon following Sherlock out the door. When they got to the Yard Lestrade presented Sherlock with all the test results they’d been waiting for. He looked askance at Sherlock who seated John before seating himself and taking the stack of reports. As he read through them he passed them one at a time to John who looked them over as well. “We’ll need to see the crime scene again.” the photographs were atrocious; clearly Anderson had been in charge. Lestrade sighed and rolled his eyes but made arrangements for Sherlock and John to be allowed on scene.

The case was gruelling. Not only did it take up all of Sherlock’s time but he needed to stop investigating over and over again to take care of John. The clothing fittings ate up both of the doctor’s days off and drove Sherlock wild with impatience as he tried to hurry but at the same time not rush because he needed John’s wardrobe to be exactly right. John understood the pressures brought on by the case and for some reason seemed to want to make things easier on Sherlock when it was all about making things easier for John! John barely argued the clothing choices, only commenting about fit and adjustments that needed to be made and Sherlock realized _John really was trusting him to choose his clothing_! That made Sherlock even more stressed than ever because he absolutely had to get everything perfectly correct. After a long argument with himself Sherlock ordered new clothes for himself as well, having his favorites painstakingly replicated in larger sizes. There were only so many times Mrs. Hudson would sew the buttons back onto his shirts before she told John about it. The detective checked in at the shops every two days to examine their progress, demanding perfection as he kept an eye on the calendar, and watched the days and weeks begin to dribble away.

During that time life went on nearly as normal in 221 B Baker Street. Almost. The case was solved only two weeks later when the tests proved Sherlock’s theory that the woman had been tortured as part of a rather distasteful underground film project that featured more than one gruesome ‘star’. An entire group of people were arrested and the headlines sickened Londoner’s for days. More cases poured into John’s blog as a result and Sherlock was busier than ever. There was only one drawback. The potion refused to wear off entirely! Sherlock had feelings all the time about everything! It was difficult for the detective to remember he wasn’t supposed to behave a certain way especially in public. It took actual effort for Sherlock to retain his well-known emotionless demeanor, particularly when they managed to work together, which was almost never now.

Sherlock was sure his behavior had made John deliberately step back from assisting Sherlock. Instead the doctor was taking more shifts at the clinic and even getting a second job at another hospital. Sherlock understood in a way. The doctor was a proud man. There were only so many times he would let Sherlock open doors for him, or try to escort him from one place to another, or to stand as close to the doctor as he could. Sherlock had tried to sound supportive when the doctor informed him that he would only be occasionally available for the Work. Sherlock had smiled, told John that was perfectly fine, walked into his bedroom, shut the door and actually _cried_ about it. Sherlock was so embarrassed afterward. He had no idea why he had wept but he had needed to stay inside his room for hours until his eyes weren’t red any longer, ignoring John’s many requests to come join him for dinner, and later, to come watch telly with him. His transport was doing whatever it wanted and Sherlock see no light at the end of the tunnel.

John was also taking secret calls. Several times Sherlock had come upon the doctor hastily ending a call, looking guilty but remaining wordless. Sherlock never once asked after it, the words stuck in his throat, his heart just aching because it was obvious to him that John had met someone but was reluctant to let Sherlock know this. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he tried to find out. He stole John’s mobile one night while the doctor slept and even though his cheeks burned with shame Sherlock scrolled through the doctor’s calls but found nothing suspicious. He even checked John’s text messages and emails but found nothing at all. He smelled John’s laundry, searching for traces of perfume or anything that was not John Watson. The doctor just smelled like the hospital and the horrid cafeteria they had. All that proved to Sherlock was that John had learned to cover his tracks better than ever and the detective despaired to the point where he nearly called Mycroft to give him assistance. It was too humiliating so he hadn’t.

Mummy started texting Sherlock. She never did that. Someone must have finally shown her how to use a mobile. She didn’t ever expect an answer back and she certainly didn’t get any but that didn’t stop her from asking little questions about his life, her amusement coming through each word. One day it was clear she had found out how to attach things to messages and a series of photographs were sent to him one at a time. Sherlock blanched at all of them, debated about deleting the emails but then just filed everything away and tried to delete the information from his mind palace. It didn’t work.

Sherlock tried so hard to be good for John. He didn’t argue about meals. When John watched a movie Sherlock sat with him on the sofa and tried to keep his comments down to a minimum, unless they made John laugh. Sherlock went to bed every night when the doctor did, even if he wasn’t at all tired. He tried to keep the flat in relatively decent order. He even cleaned up all his experimental equipment and managed to rid the flat of the strange odor that had lingered since he’d forgotten his experiment that day. When he was at work, no matter if the doctor was with him or not, Sherlock minded his manners, dealing with everyone as if John were right there watching him. Working alone was breaking him. The slings and insults that he had to put up with from so many of the Yarders stung like they never had before, especially without John by his side to deflect them. Sherlock’s heart hurt all the time and he hid everything away as best he could, his old shield completely gone as he struggled to make it through one crime scene after another, unfocused and feeling exposed. Whenever John left him behind to go to work Sherlock would fold up on himself and feel the return of the loneliness that had been his lot since he was a child. Sherlock shook it off as best he could and threw himself into intensive research to fill up his spare moments, refusing all cases unless they were an eight or better. He wasn’t suffering for nothing.

The final fittings for the doctor were scheduled and John went alone for his clothing. Sherlock’s new clothes had already arrived. The shops he frequented were very accustomed to dealing with customers like the Holmes family, and with their normal impassive professionalism had merely altered everything to fit Sherlock’s new slightly sturdier dimensions. As usual Sherlock donated away his old clothes and refilled his wardrobe with his new things. Finally, only two weeks before the Holmes family dinner all of John’s things were ready and deliveries began to arrive at Baker Street. “Sherlock, I don’t remember ordering these.” said John as he looked through the stacks of jumpers and trousers. His new coat had already been tried on and fussed over, the thigh-length wool coat now hanging beside Sherlock’s Belstaff, waiting for John.

Sherlock blushed. These were all the casual clothes he had ordered right after the potion incident. All of them had been custom made for John, “You can’t wear suits all the time John. These are everyday clothes.”

“Oh.” John looked a bit stunned as he fingered the fine fabrics and took in the rich patterns, “They look incredible.” The materials were all decadent but understated. John’s old clothes couldn’t compare for comfort. Sherlock had searched diligently before settling on the offerings now in front of the doctor. Sherlock had found one or two special items that should suit him but until the doctor wore them he would never know.

“You should try them on at least, make sure they fit.” said Sherlock seriously, “There’s still time to get adjustments made if you need them.”

“Oh. Right. Good idea.” said John who looked almost afraid to touch his new finery, “Uh…Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at John who was a bit red of face, “Yes John?”

“Could you give me a hand? I actually don’t know what goes with what.” John’s face was very telling and Sherlock stood immediately. All the outfits had been chosen specifically to be matched with different items but right now all John could see were stacks of shirts, jumpers, and everything else Sherlock had gotten him. Until it was all sorted out he wouldn’t know which went with which.

“Of course John, it’s no trouble at all.” Together they brought everything up to John’s room and piled it all on his bed, “Get rid of anything you aren’t sentimental about, we need the room.” said Sherlock, pointing at John’s wardrobe. John rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just fetching a handful of shopping bags to fill with his now unneeded jumpers, shirts, and trousers. While John carried them downstairs to put by the outside door for donation Sherlock laid out various outfits for John to try on. When the doctor came back Sherlock was ready, “I made sure to choose resilient fabrics, I know you’ll need to use these to work and I didn’t want you worrying that your clothes couldn’t handle a little honest wear.”

“Oh, well, that was very considerate of you.” John sounded surprised and Sherlock frowned at him. These clothes would be acceptable anywhere, the hospital or even the middle of the Holmes gathering. Did John seriously think Sherlock wouldn’t do his absolute best to outfit his best friend?

“I told you I would take care of this John and I did. I wouldn’t force you to accept something that wasn’t suitable.” John looked chagrined and Sherlock softened immediately, “I wanted you to be at ease John. I wanted you to enjoy your clothes, not feel out of place in them.” John smiled at Sherlock, his expression both wry and appreciative at the same time, “This is the first ensemble.”

Sherlock stepped out and shut John’s bedroom door, allowing the doctor privacy to strip off his last remaining old outfit and put on his first new one. “Okay.” he called. Sherlock went back in.

John looked a little stiff as he stood ramrod straight in the center of this bedroom like he was awaiting military inspection. Sherlock’s gaze ran up and down the doctor’s body, “Perfect John.” he said with a smile. John’s trousers were fitted, enhancing the strong looks of his legs without being too snug. His new shirt was discretely patterned and went well with the knitted jumper in soft gray that went over it. “You look every inch the doctor, as you should.”

John cheeks turned a surprising shade of pink and he wouldn’t look at Sherlock, “Thank you.” Sherlock had laid out all of John’s new casual outfits, “You didn’t need to get me pants as well though.” Sherlock didn’t mention how long he had spent going over the men’s pants at countless stores, searching for the perfect undergarments for John who normally only purchased very plain white ones, the least expensive ones that he could find. These were made of the finest softest cotton that Sherlock could locate in London, all of them in an array of subdued colors, “Red pants?”

“Just one pair.” said Sherlock, “I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer so I tried to get you an assortment. You’ve got new socks too.” John needed a sock index. His old socks were shamefully stained and worn. Obviously John didn’t cycle through his socks; he just wore whichever pair came to hand. Sherlock had found him an eclectic selection of wildly patterned and extremely colorful socks that made John laugh when he looked at them. They were all so wild it wouldn’t matter which pair he wore with his outfits.

“These are great.” said John with a big smile, “Yeah. Okay, the socks are my new favorite thing.” he was beaming at Sherlock who was exploding with pride. John liked the socks! “Are these slippers?” John drew out the pair Sherlock had hidden under the pile of socks and pants. John put them on right away. They were printed with a tartan pattern as close to the Watson clan as Sherlock could find, the soles soft but not slippery, and lined with a fine layer of lamb’s wool.

“Your old ones have a hole in them now, you can’t possibly bring them for our visit, these will do until you find something you’d prefer.” the toe of John’s slipper had finally given out last month, not that Sherlock had allowed John to see that he’d noticed. That would embarrass the doctor too much, “I hope you don’t mind John, I wasn’t sure what to do about that.” John’s new shoes would be arriving tomorrow. He needed them for his suits.

John’s fingers ran over them slowly, “It’s gorgeous.” the doctor walked around the room in them right away and groaned with pleasure, “Oh god, I feel like I’m walking on clouds.” Sherlock smiled softly at John’s expression. He did indeed look blissful. “These are amazing Sherlock, really? You got all of this for me?” John was smiling and looking over everything all over again with fresh appreciation.

“Of course John, we only have a short time between now and the visit. I don’t want to leave anything until the last moment. I know seven days doesn’t seem like much but believe me, you’re going to feel every single minute.” Sherlock was morose. It was bad enough being here in Baker Street with John. Being surrounded by his blood was going to make the visit exponentially worse for the detective. Still, this was the price he’d agreed to in order to be able to see the look on John’s face while he enjoyed his new things.

For a fleeting moment Sherlock thought about the long black lacquered box that lay hidden under the floorboards beneath John’s bed. No. Things weren’t that dire. Not right now anyway, there was no need for that but the knowledge that the option was at least _available_ comforted the detective in a disconcerting way. He wouldn’t do it but he could, if he wanted. He didn’t want to, not enough to wait for John to leave so he could sneak into his room and fetch it out.

John entirely derailed that line of thought by hugging Sherlock warmly and clapping him on the back, “Good thing I’ll be there with you. We’ll keep each other entertained, so no leaving me alone, you’re responsible for keeping your eye on me the entire time. I don’t want to get ambushed. You can deduce people for me. That’s always interesting, plus Mycroft will be there and you can’t tell me there isn’t something annoying we could do to him while we’re there.”

John’s eyes were twinkling devilishly and Sherlock remembered why they were best friends. John was always on Sherlock’s side. Sherlock couldn’t help the wide grin he gave back to the doctor, “I’ll put some thought into that John.” Yes. With both of them there together things wouldn’t be so bad.

John looked up at Sherlock, “I know I’ve been working a lot but that’s almost done now, one last shift and I’m back to just the clinic. If there’s a case, I can come if you like.”

Sherlock smiled again, this was wonderful news. “Of course John, I’m nearly done the latest of Lestrade’s investigations but surely London will provide us one last puzzle before we leave.”

“Well we can hope.” Buoyant again Sherlock left John to change into his next ensemble. When he came back in they examined the overall look. John’s slacks were dark green now and it was matched with a button down and cable-knit jacket. John looked cosy and very comfortable, “Very smart John.”

It took a couple of hours to go through everything and John was nervous about wearing his new clothes to work but Sherlock just shook his head and pointed to the suit he was wearing, “Look what I wear when I work.” John looked at him. Sherlock was wearing a bespoke suit, a relatively plain one but still. John laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve commented on it often enough. Don’t fuss about it John, they’re just clothes. If you ruin them we can just replace it, you look very handsome in everything though, I’m sure everyone at the clinic will appreciate the view.” The portion of Sherlock’s trust meant for clothing was generous to the point of being ridiculous. There wasn’t enough allocated for rent but if Sherlock wanted to buy a new suit every single day, he could. This was the first time he’d made extensive use of it and he wondered what Mummy thought of it all.

John’s face pinked again when Sherlock complimented him and Sherlock berated himself silently. John clearly wasn’t interested in anything to do with Sherlock beyond friendship. In all the weeks that had passed since they’d consumed the potion the good doctor had made no reference whatsoever to Sherlock’s declaration of love or John’s spell induced return declaration. It was like it hadn’t even happened. A jolt of pain sliced through Sherlock’s heart when he realized that John didn’t love him beyond the level anyone would love a friend. They were friends and that was it. Sherlock smiled warmly at John and felt his heart splintering as the truth finally revealed itself. Sherlock was now forever in love with John Hamish Watson thanks to the potion but John would never love Sherlock more than he did now. John was secretly dating someone and would never want to be involved with a man one such as Sherlock Holmes, madman, eccentric, and entirely undesirable, “I’ll go call in dinner.” he said and John nodded.

Sherlock went to the kitchen and wiped away the handful of tears that spilled out, keeping his voice even and natural sounding as he chose all of John’s favorite dishes. This mess was entirely his own fault. No one had forced him to make the potion; no one had forced him to trick John into drinking it, or forced the glass into Sherlock’s own hand. This was a hell of his own making and he had no one but himself to blame. Sherlock went to the bathroom and washed his face, ensuring that he looked as normal as possible. His mobile cheeped. Mummy again. She’d sent a fresh picture and Sherlock had to lock himself into his bedroom to compose himself. She wasn’t letting up and again Sherlock had done this to himself! Would the torture never end? The lacquered box had never called so hard to him but John was in his room, and would be in the flat all evening. Sherlock couldn’t….not yet. He felt weak and ashamed but still began to make plans to retrieve it. He couldn’t take this any longer, not without help.

John came downstairs, self-consciously wearing a new outfit, “Well?” asked the doctor nervously, “Do I look weird?”

“No John of course you don’t. Tea?” Sherlock was proud of how steady his voice was, how bland and expressionless he’d kept it. John nodded and went to the kitchen to make two cups. John looked breathtaking. He’d chosen the vintage green jumper; of course he had, it was the most horrid one of the lot, complete with knitted cats. John carried it off with aplomb. Sherlock flittered around before settling on his violin. He needed to do something to sooth himself so he closed his eyes and began to play. He heard John set a cup down near him but Sherlock couldn’t look at him. He was too handsome and Sherlock was too out of control of himself around the doctor.

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to jump in surprise when he felt a warm hand between his shoulder blades, “Drink your tea while it’s hot.” said John with a soft smile, he was standing right next to Sherlock, looking up at him and indicating his cup, “Come on, I know you must be parched by now.” Sherlock was a bit thirsty, that was true, but John was a doctor. He should know things like this so there wasn’t anything untoward about his actions; he was just doing what he did. Sherlock set his violin down and joined John for tea. “We should go out tonight, have some fun. I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon, what do you think?” John’s smile was warm and inviting.

“What would you like to do?” John wanted to go out with Sherlock tonight?

“I don’t know? Perhaps we could walk in the park and maybe check out some of the holiday markets? I haven’t done anything of the sort this year and I’d like to.” John looked up at Sherlock.

“That sounds delightful John.” it did. It wasn’t until he was shrugging himself into his coat that he realized he probably shouldn’t have phrased his response quite that way. He risked a quick glance at John who had a small smile on his face as he tugged on his new warm coat. “Your footwear is taking a bit longer than I anticipated, two more days I’m told.”

“That’s fine; my boots are more than adequate.” John’s old winter boots were sturdy at least. He stamped himself into them and checked them both over before letting Sherlock get the door for him. Sherlock couldn’t help himself but at least John wasn’t making it awkward for him and that was a relief. The streets were busy with people enjoying the lights and decorations everywhere, the parks filled with smiling faces and overall goodwill. It was cool but not damp or bitter, just cold enough to keep everything crisp and enjoyable. John seemed to be enjoying everything, his smiles scattered liberally about as he peered around trying to see as much as possible. Sherlock had to laugh, “What. Don’t laugh. It’s lovely, don’t you think it’s lovely?”

Sherlock looked around. Businesses and homes alike were lined with strings of lights and decorations of all sorts for all manner of holiday celebrations. For a searing moment Sherlock wished everyone would disappear just for a few minutes so he could enjoy all of it with only the doctor but the crowds stayed, jostling them as they made their way, “It is lovely John, if a bit hard to appreciate.” Sherlock was nudged by yet another passerby.

“Like this.” said John, his voice fond, “When I was still in I used to go to the markets wherever I was. This crowd is nothing. Look, move like this, with the crowd, not against it.” John began walking like normal but somehow he managed to slip in between people without disruption. Sherlock followed behind him examining how John’s body moved and swayed, how he placed his feet and set his shoulders until he found he was almost gliding through the crowds as well, “See? Nothing to it.”

“You’re amazing John.” how had Sherlock not learned this from John before this? They worked their way easily through the masses of holiday shoppers and sightseers. It became a game without words. John or Sherlock would spot an interesting display somewhere and their eyes would meet in understanding, both men working their way silently through the crowds, grins on their faces, laughter on their lips when they met up again. They would shop aimlessly for a bit and then part once more, making their way through the crowds over and over again. It was fun and diverting, the whole evening frittered away doing nothing but chasing John Watson down one street after another just for a laugh.

Finally they made their way back home, stopping to collect some take-away on their way by. Sherlock started the fire and John put on one of his many action movies to watch as they ate in front of the flames. Sherlock felt relaxed and happy, even paying attention to John’s movie, “Why are they in space.”

“They’re saving the earth.”

“They’re like monkeys, how are they saving the earth?”

“They’ve got skills Sherlock, did you miss the beginning?”

“That one isn’t even wearing his harness correctly.”

“It’s a movie Sherlock, not real life, mistakes happen. Ignore it and just watch.”

“Why is she wearing sunglasses in space?”

“I don’t know Sherlock.”

“Is there gravity on their capsule, wouldn’t her space-glasses float away?”

Anyone else would normally be frustrated at these questions but John seemed to find them amusing, “I suppose they must.”

“They’re only wearing face shields. They’re on an entirely alien planet and they’re only wearing face shields. How is that possible? Their bodies are entirely vulnerable; at least three orifices are completely exposed.” John was laughing out loud now.

John was in tears when Sherlock began rooting for the alien, shouting warnings at it and cursing the humans. When the movie was over John sat there with a huge grin on his face, “I’ll never be able to watch this movie the same way ever again.

“I don’t think I’d seen it before.” Sherlock had practically never watched a movie in his life before he moved in with John. Sitting down to something as common as a dvd would never be tolerated by a Holmes though Mycroft had sussed it out somehow, being required to attend openings of various films must have some merit. Most of Sherlock’s exposure to movie entertainment came by way of John’s collection and Sherlock found it very puzzling. He was almost entirely ignorant of popular culture and as a result he’d inadvertently become John’s pet project. Now the doctor regularly exposed Sherlock to all sorts of astonishing concepts like space ships in ancient Rome, and furniture that traveled through time. His reactions never failed to entertain the doctor and Sherlock made no effort to edit himself.

“There are more in that series but they’ll have to wait for another night. I’ve got to get some sleep.” John was still laughing softly as he stood, collecting his teacup and clapping Sherlock warmly on the shoulder before going to the kitchen to put it in the sink, “I had a great time tonight, thanks for everything Sherlock.”

John was already starting up the stairs, “Goodnight John, sleep well.” Sherlock watched him until he couldn’t see John any more but listened carefully as John shut himself away for the night. The fire was still burning so Sherlock shut everything else down and curled up on the sofa, his head planted against the Union Jack pillow that was still faintly warm from being tucked behind John’s back. Tugging their shock blanket over his shoulders Sherlock closed his eyes and began filing away each moment of the evening safely away in his mind palace. His gift had been well received but now there was practically nothing between them and the visit with the family. Sherlock tried to ignore the unease that was growing inside him. How would he survive this? It was the worst of all possible scenarios, it would have been horrid enough even before the potion but now? Fretfully Sherlock buried his face into the pillow, seeking John’s scent to sooth himself. Without meaning to he fell asleep, a small smile on his face as he dreamed of chasing John through the markets, catching him over and over again and being rewarded with the warmest smile Sherlock had ever known.


	4. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has done his best to make things better between his best friend and himself. Perhaps he's pushed himself a little too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - This chapter references past drug use and begins touching very gently on body image issues.

John wore his new clothes to work the next day and kept texting Sherlock the various compliments he’d received from his coworkers. Sherlock felt both good and bad about that. On one hand John deserved to be told how handsome he looked in his new jumpers but on the other hand, _people were telling John how good he looked in his jumpers_! It made Sherlock ball up his fists in frustration. He didn’t want other people looking at John like that! Helpless jealousy bloomed inside the detective and made his heart ache all over again. He wondered if John’s mystery girlfriend was reaping the rewards for his efforts. This was so unfair and there was nothing to be done about it. Sherlock tried to work in the kitchen, setting up experiments but uncharacteristically losing track of the processes until he’d ruined four. Frustrated at last Sherlock cleaned up after himself, scouring the kitchen angrily.

Mummy sent another text and more pictures. He shut off his mobile. Sherlock covered his eyes and tried not to let her inside his head but it was too late. He never should have called Mummy! This was the worst mistake he’d ever made and he he’d done it to himself. Suddenly all the strain of the last few weeks seemed to pile up on Sherlock and it was too much.

He thought of the lacquered box. The gleaming blackness of it beckoned him. John would be gone for hours. There would be enough time to fetch the box and use it. John would never know. The bite of the needle, the heady rush of the drug, both of them called to him, singing to his blood, his brain. Sherlock was half-way up the stairs before he stopped himself. John might not know but Sherlock would and the guilt would eat at him day and night until he confessed and then John would not only be angry with Sherlock but he would be _disappointed_. The thought of John being disappointed in him was too awful so Sherlock slunk back down to the front room and curled up in John’s chair, squeezing his long legs up to make as much of himself fit into it as he could. The more he sat the greater the need became. He watched the clock, his eyes desperately calculating the amount of time he could feasibly be high and escape detection before his window of opportunity passed and he began to calculate how long he could pretend to be asleep before John got suspicious and tried to wake him. Oh he wanted to fetch the box. He wanted it so much that Sherlock didn’t notice his fingers digging into his thighs as he held himself back or the sheen of sweat that made his face dewy.

There were three hours left in John’s shift when the doctor came home early, a note of worry in his voice, “Sherlock? Sherlock are you home? Sherlock where are you?” John nearly burst into the flat, his eyes seeking Sherlock’s instantly, his entire body radiating concern and worry, “Are you alright? I tried to text you. Mycroft sent me a very worrying message, Sherlock, are you alright?” John was checking his eyes and Sherlock realized Mycroft was monitoring him and told John it was a danger night. He stumbled to the skull on that mantle, sure enough an electronic glint blinked at him from the recesses. Sherlock destroyed it. How long had Mycroft watched him before sending John a message? His cheeks turned scarlet with mortification and he voluntarily pulled up his sleeves to show John that they were free of needle-marks. He wasn’t expecting John to pull him into a rough hug and to hold him close for a long and wonderful minute, “Tell me what’s happening. Everything.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop the words from spilling out; it was like right after he’d taken the potion, “Mummy. She’s planning something. She keeps sending me texts and pictures. John, you have no idea how awful she is. I almost did John, I almost did. I was half-way there….John…it’s in your room, under your bed. Take it away John. I can’t say no. Take it away!” broken at last he sank back into the sofa, his knees too weak to keep himself standing. Sherlock couldn’t help how desperate his voice was or how his hands shook as he clutched at John.

The doctor hugged Sherlock hard one more time and astonished Sherlock further by kissing the top of his head firmly. “You wait right here. I’m going to take care of that right now.” Sherlock nodded miserably and hid his face in his arms, too ashamed of his weakness to look at John. He was spineless and a coward. Sherlock cringed anew at the knowledge that his addiction was as strong as it ever was. Only the thought of making John unhappy was enough to stop him. Hot tears of remorse wet the sleeves of his shirt as he listened to John pull up the floorboards, cursing as he pulled the box from its hiding place. A rustle of plastic told Sherlock the doctor had bagged it up and then John was speaking to someone on the phone. He came down a few minutes later, “I’m giving this to Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade is coming by to take it away for disposal.” John left and went downstairs. Sherlock could hear him speaking softly to Mrs. Hudson before he came back up to the flat. Sherlock braced himself for the lecture he was sure was coming but instead John surprised him all over again by pulling him out of his seat and hugging him all over again, “I’m so proud of you Sherlock, you stopped yourself and I know that wasn’t easy. I’m very proud of you.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms tight around John. He needed to ground himself and John was just the perfect height to brace himself around. The doctor’s arms were snug around his waist and ribs so Sherlock buried his face in John’s hair and just breathed until his nerves didn’t feel like snapping and the shaking he hadn’t noticed had ceased. He still felt very low and apologized to John brokenly, “I tried John, I really tried.” He felt like such a failure.

“I know you did Sherlock and you did so well. It’s gone now, and I’m back to work at just the clinic. I’ll tell you what, I’ve got all sorts of vacation time saved up anyway, I’ll call Sarah and take it. I’ve been so busy lately I’ve missed everything. What do you think Sherlock, you and me for a week or so before we jump feet first into hell?” John’s wink was sassy and it made Sherlock laugh even though he still felt weepy.

“Are you sure John?” Sherlock felt guilty; surely they needed John at work more than Sherlock needed his best friend at home.

John seemed to disagree with that notion, “It’s not even a problem. Tell you what, you order dinner in and I’ll call her right now.” John squeezed Sherlock tight before walking off, the mobile already at his ear as he left to discuss his time off with his boss. John came back almost twenty minutes later, “She wasn’t very impressed but she couldn’t argue the fact that I have more overtime logged than any other doctor on staff, HR was giving her a hard time about that. Anyway, I’ve got a full month off paid, luxury or what?”

John wouldn’t do that without reason. Sherlock looked at John, “What did Mycroft tell you?”

John didn’t hesitate, pulling out his mobile and showing Sherlock the text, _Our mother has been contacting Sherlock frequently. Trigger warning_ and that was it. John looked at Sherlock, “I tried to get in touch with you right away.”

“I shut my mobile off,” said Sherlock softly, “I can’t delete her texts. I can’t unsee what she sends me. Everything from Mummy goes right into my mind palace, I can’t expunge it.” She’d controlled his life for so long. How easy was it to fall for her machinations all over again? If it hadn’t been for the drugs Sherlock would have walked away so easily?

John looked angry, “What’s her deal anyway, why has this visit gotten you so worked up? You’ve been all nerves since the beginning of the autumn.” John didn’t seem to realize he was rubbing Sherlock’s arms soothingly and Sherlock was letting him because he needed to be soothed. John was so giving and greedily Sherlock took, starved for any sort of comfort because he had known it so rarely.

“Mummy is all about _appearances_. She is a very beautiful woman and she’s used her looks to advance herself. My entire life with her has been about body image. She has been dressing me and showing me since I was old enough to stand on my own. I have long since been a terrible disappointment to her because I do not share her love of fashion and physical beauty. She wanted me to…” Sherlock frowned and pressed his lips together. This was foolish.

“What, she wanted you to what?” John looked anxious. Sherlock felt guilty because John must have been envisioning something horrific.

“Nothing terrible it’s just embarrassing, just…well….she.” this was so awkward and injurious at the same time. How could he explain how Mummy’s interests had both destroyed and made him at the same time? “I was an uncommonly handsome youth. That made Mummy very happy. She had a dream she wanted to live out through me…she…” John would never look at Sherlock the same again. No one would ever take Sherlock seriously again. Mummy would somehow make it so everyone knew and his career as a detective would be over. No wonder Mycroft was laughing. This must be the most amusing thing his older brother had ever enjoyed witnessing. Clenching his teeth for a second Sherlock just spit it out, “She wanted me to be a _fashion model_ , can you imagine?” Sherlock couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. How had Mummy ever thought he would be interested in such a life? His cheeks flushed again at the idea of the work he’d had to do for her, the endless auditions, the constant posturing. None of it had appealed to the brilliant young man. Instead Sherlock had memorized Homer before he was in school, he had devoured Mycroft’s school books one after the other, and plundered the vast family library for books on mathematics as well as all other sciences. Mummy had found it frustrating to have to lure him away from them again and again, “She said my natural thinness and dark looks would do well. She had always wanted to be a model but gave up her chance in order to marry my father. As soon as I could I left it behind and went to uni much to her never-ending disappointment. She’s completely dismissive of any academic achievements. She doesn’t care for Mycroft at all except that he’s managed to make himself powerful and for her power is nearly as important as looks.”

“That triggers you?” John wasn’t mocking him? Laughing at him for having such an unexpected hidden history? Mummy had at least done him the favor of contracting him under a false name, Papa would not tolerate her using the Holmes name for such an endeavor but he couldn’t stop her entirely. Sherlock now loathed how he looked. Instead he ruthlessly employed his malleable and dubious attractiveness whenever necessary, never allowing true intimacy to develop with anyone because he had nothing inside to give. He treated his body as the vehicle it was, simply there to transport his brain around, to keep it entertained and well-fed with information. There was nothing else about him. He was hollow or he had been. He’d been an empty vessel until John Watson came into his life and now he was full to overflowing with feelings.

Sherlock hesitated, “She didn’t do it directly, she disagreed with it, but she did put me into that world as a very young adult. Drugs were common and so easy to obtain. At first she ignored my experimentations with it because it kept me compliant. I would go to photo-shoots and magazine spreads willingly if I was high and they couldn’t keep track of me well enough to stop me, you would have thought she would have stopped then but she didn’t. I have distant cousins that did well in the industry; she wanted me to follow in their footsteps, to exceed them if I could. When I left to go abroad she protested, she knew I was only leaving so I could do drugs without supervision, she never expected me to discover the Work and neither did I. So, instead of me providing her with vicarious fame and producing a generation of beautiful grandchildren for her I left to live a life she cannot comprehend, never once giving her the slightest hope for the progeny she expects me to father. To _that_ end she has procured two separate young women she wishes me to be formally introduced to. She wants me to meet them next week, to…court.” It was patently ridiculous! How did she plan to play out this fantasy? Sherlock would never be a part of that world ever again, it was meaningless. Young ladies? Clearly his mother had chosen to ignore both of her son’s predilections. Mycroft certainly wasn’t shy about his male companions and Sherlock supposed his own lack of companionship aside from John would leave her to guess as she would about his orientation.

John looked aghast, his face flickering through a range of reactions ranging from horror to disbelief, “Your mother let you become involved with drugs because she wanted you to be a _model_ and she now wants you to hook-up with one of your creepy cousins so you can make babies? No! Just…no Sherlock, this is not happening. You are not being forced to go with some….just no!” John’s face settled on being incredibly angry.

“Well what do you want me to say John? This is what she’s managed to do and we’re not even there yet! Can you imagine what she can get up to when I’m right at hand? I can’t say no to her any more than I can say no to the drugs! Don’t you understand John? She’s trained me to be this way since I was a babe in arms! I wanted to study _everything_ , I want to know _everything_ , but all my mother cares about is that my clothes are in season! She wants grandchildren, lovely ones, and she’s losing patience.”

John looked furious for a moment then his face cleared, “She can’t set you up with someone if you’re already with someone. _Me_.” John’s chin jutted out pugnaciously.

“You?” what about John’s secret girlfriend, “Explain yourself John.”

“We go to your family thing as boyfriends. Your distant cousins can kiss my ass right after your mum, they’re not sinking their claws into you, not while I’m there.” John looked resolute then his expression became chagrined after a long silence followed his proposal, “Oh, well maybe you don’t want me as a boyfriend. That might be weird. Well, we can make someone up if it’s not me. I don’t care. I just want to….”

Sherlock cut him off breathlessly, “Of course I want you for my boyfriend John only...” Sherlock bit his lip. He wasn’t going to be able to deal with multiple stresses when they were with his family. He had to do this now or he would break again. “I can’t fake it. I _do_ want you as that but for real. John!” Sherlock sat back down and buried his face in his hands and wished he could just disappear, “It hasn’t worn off a bit for me.”

“The potion?”

“Yes John. It’s as bad as it ever was and it has been since I first drank it.”

“You mean all this time you’ve been feeling…”

“Yes John, for goodness sakes _yes_. Please don’t rub it in. I remember perfectly well how you wished this had never happened, but I can’t make it go away, it’s tearing me to pieces, I can’t stop _feeling_ , nothing stops anymore.” Sherlock’s shoulders were shaking and he wanted to disappear even more when he realized he was crying right in front of John. _Oh god could things get any worse_? What word described something beyond mortification? He was supposed to be a high-functioning sociopath, but look! He was a wreck!

John took Sherlock right back into his arms and let him cry on his shoulder, stroking Sherlock’s hair and rubbing his back until Sherlock eventually stopped. By the time their take-away arrived Sherlock was ready to go into the bathroom and wash his face. His eyes were a brilliant red as were his cheeks and nose. He looked pale and splotchy and even his lips seemed slightly swollen and puffy. Groaning Sherlock debated locking himself into his room but John just came into the bathroom and dragged him into the kitchen gently, seating him at the table and setting his portion of dinner in front of him, “Eat, you’ll feel better.”

It did steady him. The food was warm and savory, familiar and the silence between them was comfortable and not awkward. Sherlock appreciated the time John gave him to recover his shattered dignity, and made a concerted effort to clear his plate. When they were finished John made two extra-large cups of tea for them to bring out to the front room. He sat on the sofa with Sherlock and surprised the detective all over again, “I said I wished you said those things to me without needing the potion. I didn’t say that I didn’t want to know how you felt, I do. I just…well what I wanted was…” John seemed to be having difficulty, finally exhaling gustily, “I guess what I’m trying to say is I have feelings too Sherlock, only my feelings happened before the potion and they’ve not changed a bit for years. I’ve been waiting a long time trying to figure out how you feel about me and it was pretty disappointing to learn only because you took some kind of truth serum. You wouldn’t have told me otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have felt anything even remotely like I feel without it. That’s what bothers me. Right now though it’s not about me, I just needed you to understand my position. I care about you and I don’t want you to suffer. I want to protect you because of how I feel about you and if that means telling your family I’m your boyfriend, even if you don’t un-magically feel that way, then that’s what I’ll do. I want to keep you happy and safe. I don’t want you to feel alone or that you’ve got no place to turn when you’re low. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you Sherlock, no matter how you feel about me. I’d never turn you away and I’ll always give you what you need, no matter what.”

Sherlock didn’t want them to but his eyes were filling up again, this time for an entirely different reason. He was astonished and tentatively happy. He wanted to be all the way happy but he was still so astounded by John’s words, “What if the potion never wears off and I’m like this forever?” Would John ever be able to believe Sherlock’s feelings were true?

“Then we’ll be together forever with you like this, if that’s the way it is.” said John simply. He spoke as if the decision had already been made, as if this was the way it was going to be no matter what Sherlock decided and that made Sherlock feel warm inside. John would do this no matter what and knowing that made him feel secure, safe. He could trust John to be with him and John’s trust was a precious gift that Sherlock would never squander again.

“You are far too good a man for someone like me,” said Sherlock, and the truth of those words cut deeply, “I have done you a grave disservice and I can never be sorry enough. I am not a strong man, tonight is proof of that well enough. I accept John. Even before the potion you were always my best friend, the only one I cared about to the point of self-destruction. I missed you while I was gone; I wanted to be back with you. Maybe in my way I loved you, I’ll never be able to say for certain. What I know is right now I feel disconnected to everything except you. When you’re around I am steady, certain. I don’t know how to manage everything I’m feeling, it’s overwhelming, everything is too much, everything except you. You are the great calm in my life and I need you. I am weak and I am foolish and I need you.”

John pulled Sherlock in tight once more and though he felt a twinge of guilt at how easily he let himself be embraced. Sherlock couldn’t help but breath in John’s scent gratefully, feeling his nerves settle and his body relax, “Is it terrible that I love how much you need me?” Sherlock twisted his head a bit to see a wry expression on John’s face, “I’m serious. You couldn’t have thrilled me more Sherlock, is that good or bad?” John kissed Sherlock’s forehead fondly, “You daft git, I’m here for you, I’m always here for you, it doesn’t matter what for.” John pulled back only enough to be able to look into Sherlock’s eyes seriously, “The potion might wear off one day. One day you might not feel the same way you do now. Do me a favor and tell me right away, don’t hide it. I’m a weak man too, I’m taking what I can get from you even though it’s because you made us drink some kind of weird something without thinking it through. Does that make me despicable? I’ve been trying to figure that out. I want to be with you Sherlock, I do. I _have_ wanted it for ages. Now you need me and I want to be needed so there we are. Potion or no potion I’m here.”

Sherlock felt a fleeting moment of triumph over John’s secret girlfriend before insecurity set in, “I can’t share you with anyone.” he said flatly. He couldn’t be plainer than that.

“I prefer monogamy.” said John with a smile and not a hint of hesitation, “If that’s alright with you.”

Sherlock’s eyes spilled over but John let him hide his face in his neck again while he composed himself, “This is going to be awkward. I can’t go about London weeping over everything.”

John laughed softly and stroked his back, “We’ll figure something out.” Sherlock’s nerves still felt stretched out and not quite themselves but John seemed perfectly content to sit there, allowing Sherlock to lay against his shoulder with his eyes closed, just breathing quietly together. John stroked his back slowly, just running his fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine evenly. It was soothing and John seemed to know when Sherlock was finally calm, the cravings that plagued him temporarily stymied. John kissed his forehead again, “Better?”

“Yes John. Thank you.” Sherlock sighed deeply, “This has helped. Nothing has helped before but this did. I feel…almost alright.” It would take a while before the cravings subsided now that they’d been reawakened but John was here, he would help Sherlock, it wouldn’t be as bad as it had been in the past.

John sounded pleased, “Yeah? Well, anytime you want Sherlock, I rather like this.” Sherlock did too, he never expected to. How strange was it to be held in the arms of a man seven centimetres shorter than he was and still feel completely secure? “You don’t mind do you? I do really enjoy this but I know it’s not really your area.”

Sherlock laughed bitterly, “My area? I have no idea what my area is any longer.” Sherlock sighed and made no move to leave the shelter of John’s embrace, “This is what I want right now John even if I haven’t wanted it before. This is what I need, what I’ve been craving, what drowns out the other things I’ve been craving. I don’t mind.”

John’s arms tightened imperceptibly when Sherlock referenced the drugs. “Then if it’s all the same to you we can just keep doing this whenever you need it, for as long as you want.” Sherlock closed his eyes and felt himself relaxing, all the tension that had kept him on edge for so long slowly seeping away as John made the noise stop and allowed peace to flourish. Sherlock drowsed for a long time and John didn’t shift more than he needed to in order to keep his hand slowly drifting up and down Sherlock’s back. A long time later Sherlock dozed entirely, hearing and feeling John using his mobile to order dinner in. When it arrived John eased Sherlock gently down onto the sofa, stroking his curls for a second before moving stiffly to make his way downstairs.

Now that he wasn’t right beside the doctor Sherlock seemed to come out of his stupor. He blinked himself slowly awake, watching John come back inside bearing bags of hot food that he carried into the kitchen. The doctor pottered around for a few minutes before he came out with a soft smile, “Awake enough to eat?” he asked.

Sherlock sat up, ruffling his curls sleepily with a careless hand. His stomach did feel empty despite the earlier meal so he nodded. Padding over to John Sherlock was surprised when the doctor took his hand for the few steps necessary to reach his chair and actually seated Sherlock, dropping a casual kiss onto Sherlock’s mess of curls. John certainly was affectionate and suddenly Sherlock couldn’t get enough. He got back up and followed John to the counter, hesitating shyly for only a second before carefully leaning up close to John’s back and putting his arm around John’s chest while the doctor served up portions from the assorted cartons. Sherlock could feel John smile, “Do you mind?” John shook his head and kept smiling so Sherlock remained close and soaked in the doctor’s soothing presence. “I know I’m being needy.” confessed Sherlock with freshly reddened cheeks.

John turned in Sherlock’s arms and looked up at him seriously, “Then take what you need Sherlock. I’d rather _this_ , hell, _I love this_ , rather than being forced to sit back and watch you fall apart. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to just give you a hug?” John put his own arms around Sherlock once again, and held him snugly to his body, “I don’t care what you think you should do or how you think other people should behave. This is you and I, not anyone else. If you need to have a cuddle, then that’s what we’ll do. You don’t have to be bashful around me Sherlock. Clearly you have needs that have to be addressed and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave you wanting! I’m here for you Sherlock; I want to be the one who gives you what you need. Let me.”

Sherlock dropped his head down gently so their foreheads pressed together, “Thank you.” John squeezed him tight then twisted around to keep serving up dinner. When he was ready they sat down and enjoyed a quiet meal together. Sherlock found himself grow calmer for having dined, especially when John cleaned up quickly while making them tea, leading Sherlock back to the sofa to watch a movie.

Sherlock stretched out on the couch the cushion at his back; he spread his legs a bit and patted the sofa invitingly. John grinned and sat down between his thighs, flopping back bonelessly and flipping around the movie menu with the remote, seeming completely at ease as he rested against Sherlock’s long body. Sherlock liked the heat and weight of the doctor, John’s head was on his chest and Sherlock wondered if John could hear how his heart was beating faster. John had chosen one of his least sensible movies that involved a self-help guru, an elephant, and ice-skates. Sherlock could barely follow along but John nearly made himself sick with laughing. Sherlock enjoyed how it felt to have John’s body convulse with laughter over his and it made him smile even if he didn’t understand the jokes that had triggered the giggles.

When it was over John yawned and stretched before simply getting up and taking himself to the bathroom. Sherlock heard the doctor washing up and getting ready for bed so with a sigh Sherlock went to his room and found a fresh pair of pajamas to change into and waited his turn. John flashed him a smile as he passed him in the hallway, climbing up to his room to go to bed. Sherlock sighed again. This evening had been one of many revelations and he was sorry to see it over. He brushed his teeth carefully and took a fast shower. He felt gritty from earlier, the panicked sweat that had dried on him now evident and he wanted it gone. When he was clean again Sherlock finally got into his sleepwear and went to lay down.

It was quiet.

It was too quiet.

It was so quiet that Sherlock couldn’t bear it. The flat was dark and he didn’t like that though normally the darkness was comfortable for him. His bed felt too large, too cold and he shivered. He wondered if John was asleep and if the soldier would mind if Sherlock crept upstairs and sat with him for a while. Just as Sherlock was pulling back his duvet he heard a creak on John’s staircase, the doctor was coming downstairs. John knocked softly, “You still awake?”

“Come in.” called Sherlock softly. He couldn’t help his eager smile as the shadows moved when John poked his head around the door. He could barely make his shape out in the night, “I’m not asleep, I can’t quite manage it.”

John slipped the rest of the way into the room, not bothering to turn the lights on. Sherlock felt him bump gently against the side of his bed then heard John patting his way over the covers. Fabric rustled and then John was sliding under the duvet with him, his small warm body finding Sherlock’s instantly, “God, you’re like ice!” admonished the doctor, rubbing his hand over Sherlock’s arm and back, “Come here.”

Sherlock wasn’t going to argue. This was incredible. John was so warm, so solid, so real. Sherlock pulled himself close, laying his head on John’s chest and tucking as much of his large body as he could around the smaller man. He felt John’s arm come up around his shoulder to stroke his back and caress his hair, “I’m glad you came.”

“After today I didn’t want you to have to face the night alone. I know it could be hard for you.” oh god John was simply incredible. He exactly what Sherlock needed. Sherlock tried to snug himself even tighter against the doctor, “Close your eyes Sherlock.” Sherlock obeyed, shutting his eyes and listening to John’s heart thump in his chest, listened to the air that whispered in and out of his lungs and was soothed by its steadiness. He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but he was certain his blissful rest was due to the fact that John held him all night long. He woke still tight in the soldier’s embrace, his head clear and his body filled with energy. John was already awake, his old habits of rising early remaining unbroken despite how long it had been since he’d been in the army, “Good morning.”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with sleep. He stretched a bit, rolling away from John to do so but rolling right back again to tug John’s arms over his shoulder once again. John laughed fondly and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock felt happy and content with the world. Horrible things might happen but it would happen to the two of them and together they could handle it. John could handle it, he could do anything. Sherlock wanted to indulge John somehow but he had no idea where to begin, “What do you want to do today?”

“Well we have all this time off and no case at the moment. What if we start off with a big breakfast and then a wander around London? We can do some Christmas shopping if you want, I don’t know if your mum is expecting a present.” John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head again and waited for an answer.

“I don’t really want to get Mummy a present but I suppose it’s expected.”

‘Well let’s not give her any reason to put us in her bad books. We’re already disappointing her, the least we can do is give her something pretty.” Sherlock giggled and John kissed his hair again. “Up we get.”

Sherlock dressed warmly, it was nippy out and if he knew John they’d be looking for open air markets that sold homemade crafts of all sorts. John was an amazing shopper, always getting the best deals, bargaining sharply with the vendors before paying the price he felt was fair. Sherlock rather enjoyed watching that and wondered what kind of marvel they’d find for his fussy mother. John busied himself in the kitchen, deftly putting together a meal that seemed to feature every sort of breakfast meat available, “I’m going to gain a stone eating that.”

“Good, then my goal will be met.” said John, “I see you’ve finally given up your adolescent sized clothing and have moved into the grownup world, it looks good.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and John laughed fondly, “Come on Sherlock, eat up.”

It was delicious and very filling. When they’d cleaned up after Sherlock helped John into his new coat, wrapping a new warm scarf around John’s neck, biting his lower lip shyly as he did so, both of them understood his impulses now but John seemed to like it. Sherlock held the door for John and they went down to speak to Mrs. Hudson. There would be more deliveries throughout the day. She was baking again and merrily wished them on their way, the twinkle in her eye knowing and approving.

The shopping crowds were fearsome but John was undaunted. Like before they parted and made their way through the mass of bodies, slipping this way and that to meet up again. Sherlock loved the chase nearly as much as John did and rewarded himself with tentative little advances, a brush of their fingers, a lingering look. John responded perfectly, smiling and relaxing into Sherlock, his gaze always appreciative and welcoming. When they stood to browse John had no difficulty standing pressed almost indecently close to Sherlock to discuss the merits of this or that. Sherlock loved the way the doctor smelled, everything about John was comfortable and warm. The first time John put his hand on Sherlock’s waist the detective nearly swooned. They were out in public and John was touching him possessively. It was a dream come true! After wandering for an hour or more John’s return advances became bolder until finally he took Sherlock’s hand in his. John seemed delighted with the smile that wouldn’t stop spreading itself across Sherlock’s face.

They enjoyed a mid-day meal on the move, John simply purchasing a small loaf of crusty bread and stopping off to pick up soft cheese. They ate their simple repast as they strolled before getting coffees at a take-away and walking some more. It was the most relaxing time Sherlock had ever had and John held his hand once again when they were done with their wandering meal. They sat in the park for a while, just enjoying the momentary sunlight and the crisp air. Sherlock looked at John, “Do you want to see Mummy’s messages?”

John looked serious and nodded carefully, “You don’t mind?”

“I have nothing to hide from you.” said Sherlock honestly. If John was going to defend Sherlock it was best that his soldier knew as much as possible. He took out his mobile and pulled up Mummy’s messages, allowing John to read them all and to look at the pictures, “Yes, those are all me.”

John looked grim. He flipped through all of them quickly and then went back again, slowly examining all of them, “I can tell which ones you were high in. How old were you when you began using heavily?”

Sherlock thought about it. It had been a slow progression; he hadn’t just tried drugs and instantly become addicted. It had started out as a lark, just something to annoy Mummy and Mycroft but Sherlock liked how it felt. He did it again because he could, and then he did it some more because no one could stop him, “Seventeen I suppose is when I began to make a regular thing of it but I don’t think I was fully addicted until I was in university. By then it was necessary just for me to get through my regular schedule. I couldn’t bear to be with people otherwise and if I wanted to go to uni I had to go to classes. It obviously didn’t work out very well. I didn’t even graduate, I left school before I completed anything though my grades were exemplary. I just didn’t care.”

“You’re so young looking.” John’s face was so serious, “You look ill in these. You looked miserable.” Picture after picture showed a teenaged Sherlock in a variety of poses, mostly clothed but occasionally artfully covered with bit of fabric but clearly nude. Those shots also showed vacant eyes and a sadness that was bone deep. They were the eyes of someone who knew too much and was unsatisfied with the answers that were left unfound. His eyes were as gaunt and hollowed as his cheeks, his ribs staring, his long youthful body twisted into semi-erotic poses that made each picture a touch obscene. John carefully went through all of them one more time, “You were very beautiful.” he said softly, sounding sad but he looked up with a small smile, “You’re better looking now.”

Sherlock blushed. John had just given him a very blatant compliment and Sherlock didn’t know how to handle it, “I’m not. I’m well past the green of my youth.”

John put Sherlock’s mobile back in his pocket, “You were just a kid, not even grown up. You were very pretty but right now, the man in front of me is the most handsome man I’ve ever known.”

Sherlock tried to deflect, “I was extremely difficult to work with, even for a temperamental model. I wasn’t in demand despite my looks.” for some reason this comment made John laugh proudly, “Mummy was quite put out with me most of the time.”

John grinned up at him, “Yeah? Well, good for you Sherlock.” John had always enjoyed the part of Sherlock that instantly bristled at authority, that almost childish urge he rarely contained that made him steal things right from the Yard, presenting them to John like trophies afterward. John always laughed and stored all of Sherlock’s plundered treasures right out in the front room in a drawer near the entrance. Lestrade had stood beside it countless times, never once suspecting his missing handcuffs, or Donovan’s office stapler were inches away. John never let on, not even once. He lectured Sherlock about breaking into places to get evidence but then had presented Sherlock with his own lock-picking kit a short while later because going through the door was better than watching Sherlock scale a building while still wearing his Belstaff. Really, he was the best friend someone like Sherlock could ever hope for. He might chide Sherlock now and again but he always supported him and kept him right.

John was particular about the gift and didn’t find anything that day. The rest of the week that followed was a heavenly dream for Sherlock with days and night spent solely with John. They were called to the Yard only twice and both times Sherlock solved the cases before they left Lestrade’s office. Both men were disappointed, hoping for one last big case before their departure. Using Mummy’s present as an excuse both men spent their time wandering around London, shopping idly here and there on their search for something appropriate. On the way Mrs. Hudson benefited by becoming the recipient of dozens of small things that Sherlock and John wrapped up and left in a huge basket of ever-growing items. John planned to wrap the entire thing in colored cellophane and present it to her before they left.

When John’s new suits arrived at long last they went through everything, spending a whole day organizing their wardrobe for their trip. Mycroft was providing a car to take them there, their garment bags and suitcases substantially more than they normally took on their many cases out of town. John made Sherlock laugh as they packed, joking about needing a separate suitcase for their socks, and wondering if Mummy had enough room in her mansion for all their vests. Sherlock was thrilled because John just packed them both up together, their clothes pressed tight as he carefully folded things neatly into place. John was increasingly affectionate, giving Sherlock hugs and squeezes whenever he got a chance, dropping kisses onto the top of Sherlock’s head if he was walking by, and best of all, John kept sleeping with Sherlock. It was entirely innocent but night after night John would creep into bed with Sherlock and hold him until dawn, both men sleeping soundly and waking happy.


	5. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have made some personal decisions, much to the relief and delight of both men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

The first time John kissed Sherlock on the mouth was accidental. Sherlock was engaged in research, seated at the kitchen table examining slides with his microscope and talking to John about his discoveries as he made them. John had been puttering back and forth, stopping every so often to plant a kiss on the back of Sherlock’s head. It was becoming John’s favorite affectionate gesture so when Sherlock finally reconciled his theory with facts and turned excitedly to tell John just as the soldier leaned in their lips met perfectly. There was shock on both sides, their eyes widening but neither man pulling back. Instead John softened his mouth and guided Sherlock into a long and lingering kiss that grew slowly hotter until Sherlock realized he’d twisted all the way around and now sat with John standing between his knees, his hands on John’s hips and his head tilted back to keep John’s mouth on his.

John’s eyes were closed but Sherlock couldn’t close his, not for an instant. Almost cross-eyed he observed John as well as he could, cataloguing the fleeting expressions that streamed across the older man’s face. John was tender, aroused, impassioned, restrained, cautious, filled with longing, and clearly willing to take everything at whatever pace Sherlock deemed appropriate. The sweetly loving feeling Sherlock had reveled in for the last few days sparked and grew, and for the first time in years Sherlock felt his body was more than just transport, it was a voluptuously feeling machine designed to accept and create pleasure, and John was the one who had figured out how to turn him on. It wasn’t until John’s tongue tentatively caressed his that Sherlock’s eyes finally fluttered shut, his mind completely focused on the delicious sensations being evoked.

Eternity passed in the moments that the kiss lasted. Sherlock felt John pull back reluctantly, allowing his eyes to open once again to drink in the look on John’s face. The doctor was lightly flushed, his thin mouth slightly reddened, but his eyes! John’s eyes were dark and stormy, filled with something so vast that Sherlock had a hard time attributing that level of desire being inspired by someone like him. “Acid.” said John softly.

Sherlock didn’t understand for a moment, “Oh!” he turned and rescued a flask that had been involved in its phase of the experiment a little too long now. Sheepishly he turned back to look at John who was just smiling fondly, “Thank you.”

John leaned down and kissed his mouth softly, not lingering, just claiming another kiss as if he’d done so a million times before, “Go on then, I’m in the middle of my list.” With a happy blush Sherlock turned back to his experiment, cutting his eyes over and over again to wherever John was as the doctor cleaned and tidied his way through the flat. John did the laundry as well, as always visiting with Mrs. Hudson while he did so. This time Sherlock wrapped up his experiments, thoroughly distracted by John’s kiss and trailed down to Mrs. Hudson’s basement suite to join them. They were playing cards and gambling with one another, their faces almost comically guilty as Sherlock frowned. “It’s just for toothpicks.” explained Mrs. Hudson, “I do miss going to Las Vegas.”

“I won’t play her for money.” said John solemnly, looking entirely abashed, “I know we shouldn’t…”

“We can play for chores.” offered Sherlock. He hadn’t played cards for fun since he had been in uni, party games were entirely tolerable when he was high but being with John and Mrs. Hudson was always entertaining, he didn’t need drugs to be with them, they were a balm in and of themselves.

Mrs. Hudson looked over at John, her face a picture of sweetness, “Oh I don’t know John. I was just going to bring in some professionals to take care of the carpet and perhaps the plaster but if you two want to play instead…” she smiled anxiously up at Sherlock who wasn’t taken in for a second. Mrs. Hudson had blazed a trail through Las Vegas and was banned from several prominent casinos though there was no evidence that she’d done anything except be more skillful than anyone else. No wonder John only played for toothpicks. Still, it wasn’t about winning, it was about spending time with people he cared about so Sherlock sat between John and Mrs. Hudson, the washing machine churning steadily behind them, and dealt.

By the time they made it to the bedding Sherlock was afraid the entire renovation of 221 B Baker Street was going to be achieved by them alone. At least Mrs. Hudson promised to keep them well supplied in baked treats and tea while they worked, and while the last load was in the dryer the three of them went over their list of things to do, deciding on alternatives if their original plans fell through and beginning to search the internet for places to obtain the appropriate supplies. John was very pleased to be helping Mrs. Hudson and went to fetch Sherlock’s laptop so they could browse online for different items together.

Sherlock helped John haul their laundry back up to their flat. Somehow John managed to pinch Sherlock bum on the way up, “John!” cried Sherlock in absolute shock, blushing hard. Never once in his life had anyone touched him so familiarly! John just chuckled warmly from behind him and said nothing. They folded everything away after remaking Sherlock’s bed. John made dinner again, popping a large pot in the oven before just walking over to Sherlock and kissing him properly. This time they were both standing so Sherlock had to duck his head to reach John and John had to stretch up a bit but it was perfect regardless, John’s mouth sweet and warm, those warm feelings growing hotter inside Sherlock until he was nearly clinging to the doctor and panting lightly. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the randomness of John’s affections, there was no rhyme or reason to it. John just did it whenever he felt like it and Sherlock wanted more.

John was a tease. He broke the kiss off eventually and left Sherlock to go stand in his bedroom painfully aroused as the doctor finished putting away linens and towels, going up to his bedroom to putter for a few minutes, and then infuriatingly returning to the kitchen to deal with dinner. Sherlock nearly growled with frustration but he could only take what John gave him, he couldn’t demand anything, he hadn’t the right. He’d already taken so much from John. When he was vaguely composed he returned to the kitchen to be further tormented by the sight of John bending over to check on their meal or searching for endless somethings in the bottom-drawers or beneath the sink. It was making Sherlock crazy.

Dinner itself was delicious agony. John had really improved as a cook over the years, so the roast he had made was tender and savory, but watching John eat was a torment that Sherlock could not resist inflicting on himself. John’s mouth was marvelous, he was a neat and efficient eater, and after each bite Sherlock had to restrain himself from leaning over and kissing the delectable corners of John’s lips. Was it normal to want his mouth on John all the time? Sherlock suddenly wondered what John tasted like everywhere. Was he salty? Musky? Flavorless entirely? What about his skin, would it feel different in different locations? What about his scars, would John allow Sherlock to taste and feel his scars? What must they be like, was the flesh firm or soft? Was it sensitive or deadened to the touch? Sherlock’s mind conjured up a cascade of questions that needed answers so by the time they were ready for pudding Sherlock was squirming lightly in his seat.

Half-way through the warm apple cobbler that Mrs. Hudson had provided Sherlock had a thought that doused all latent passion coldly. His transport was scarred, most of the mars self-inflicted but no few were because of the Work. John had sewn him back together countless times and never once had made a favorable remark about Sherlock body. He cringed a bit when he thought of himself. He didn’t understand what other people found so wonderful about being too lanky, too thin, to be made up of lines and points. He was as shapeless as a plank. In what way would he ever be able to entice John into a physical relationship? All of John’s previous bed-partners had had a certain degree of roundness in common. Apart from a handful of spare and lean ladies all of John’s conquests were generously plump, curvaceous in all areas, _a lovely handful_ he’d called them.

Sherlock didn’t have a spare inch on him. If he curved his torso forward he could pinch a bit of skin between his fingers but there wasn’t a single part of him that was plump or any sort of a handful apart from his arse, and how could a single body-part ever be enough to engage someone who had slept his way around the globe and had yet to find someone sufficient? He was huge compared to John, a collection of overlong and once nearly skeletal parts that clattered around the world. John was compact and restrained; a living weapon always at the ready, fierce and powerful. They were setting their dishes in the sink when Sherlock decided to just ask, “John do you find me attractive?”

John looked surprised, “Well of course I do.” he busied himself filling the sink with hot soapy water, “I hope I’m attractive to you too, I certainly think you’re good looking. I’m not a model or anything…” John bumped Sherlock with his hip and Sherlock smiled at the gentle tease, “But I think I do alright.”

“I don’t look anything like the women you’ve dated.” stated Sherlock baldly. He knew himself well. If he didn’t get this sorted to his satisfaction he’d never be able to relax.

“Thank goodness for that,” exclaimed John. He stopped and looked at Sherlock closely and Sherlock almost sidled away from the intensity. John stopped washing dishes and turned to Sherlock with a gentle smile, “I love the way you look. I like the way you are. You’re tall, graceful, elegant even. I’m short. I’ve got gray hair and wrinkles. My pot belly is becoming prominent. How do you think I measure up against a man who has chosen to not be a model only because he doesn’t like it? You still look like one Sherlock; I can see why your mum wanted you to try. I’m glad you didn’t, somehow I don’t imagine we’d ever have met if you’d done that instead of becoming a detective.

Sherlock was actually rather stunned by John’s description of himself. He wasn’t short! John was exactly perfectly the right height, falling dead centre within the national average, the average for which Sherlock had never fit, no matter how hard he tried. His hair was going silver not gray and it made him look rakish as well as distinguished. Sherlock wouldn’t have characterized the lines on John’s face as wrinkles! Far from it! Every line on John’s face was earned through laughing and smiling despite the sorrows he’d endured. They gave his expressions a depth and meaning no other person had, he was fascinating to watch. Sherlock had never once grown tired of seeing John’s face, not ever. The delectable swell of his belly? That was the most charming thing about John, how dare he protest its existence! As for never doing the Work, Sherlock nearly snorted, there was only one true path for Sherlock in the world and that was being a detective.

“I should never wish you to be anything but as you are John.” said Sherlock earnestly, “I find all of you to be exactly as I would wish, I can see no fault in you.” John was magnificent. He was strong and able, a conflicting mix of skills and predilections. John could be so aggressive, fatally so on occasion but those impulses needed to be brought on by specific circumstances otherwise John Watson was as dangerous seeming as a kitten, soft, sweet, adorably cuddly, his razor sharp claws hidden beneath his once-frumpy jumpers.

“Now you’re just being kind.” teased John, returning to his task. His glance showed Sherlock he’d understood how Sherlock felt and was very pleased. His good spirits returned and Sherlock stood there carefully drying everything away until they were done. “Come here.” John led Sherlock to the front room and sat with him on the sofa, “I want show you something.” John picked up Sherlock’s hands, “Your hands are lovely, you could have done those jobs showing rings or watches or anything really but you know what I like about your hands? They’re clever, you could have been the finest surgeon if you’d wanted to but you do other amazing things with them instead. Everything from how you do your experiments to the way you collect evidence is remarkable, when you play your violin, the way you can use your hands is incredible, even when you’re playing on the laptop it’s incredible, you know how jealous I am of how quick you are? I’m going to be ready for the retirement home before I get that fast. That’s just your hands.” John looked up at Sherlock who was gazing at his hands as if he’d never seen them before, “Your eyes are gorgeous, no one has eyes like you, you could have made a fortune just because of them but the thing about them that I like is how much you see. See and observe, isn’t that what you say?”

John’s smile was teasing and warm, he was still holding Sherlock’s hand, his thumb slowly rubbing against Sherlock’s fingers, “Yes John.” he said that all the time because so few people did it.

John looked proud, “You see more than anyone, you know full well how I’ve found that amazing right from the day we met. Sherlock blushed, he couldn’t help it and John kissed him softly, “Your mouth, god, no one has a mouth like that. It’s made for kissing and I’m never going to let anyone else kiss you but me, not if I can help it. What you do with that mouth though, the words that you speak, there is nothing between you and the truth no matter how much you suffer for it, god I love that. Everything about you can change Sherlock, your looks make you who you are on the outside but it’s all the amazing things inside that I’ll never get enough of. One day we’re both going to be old and saggy, wrinkly and probably half-blind and mostly deaf, but you’ll still be Sherlock and I’ll _still_ think you’re amazing.

Sherlock didn’t know how to react to all the wonderful things John was saying to him. His cheeks were flushed and he felt dizzy and warm inside and out. John looked delighted and held his hand a little tighter, “Not everyone gets to be with their best friend forever but I do. You’re my best mate and that had nothing to do with your looks. When we get to your mum’s lots of people apparently are going to be going out of their way to give us a hard time but we’re not going to let them because they aren’t you or me are they, they have no part in our lives, none of them, not even your mum. I’ve been with you for years now, not a single relative of yours has come by, so really, they’re not missing much if they don’t get to control us from afar right?”

Sherlock thrilled inside when he realized John was lumping everyone together with Mummy. He and John were an inseparable unit, everyone else was on the outside. John would always be there for Sherlock and now he truly understood that. They really were partners, in every way they could be. Well, almost. There was something they hadn’t tried yet and though he berated himself silently for having no willpower Sherlock leaned in and kissed John. John made a small surprised sound but was pleased enough to wind his small fingers in Sherlock’s curls and hold him in place. Sherlock couldn’t get enough, he wanted so much more from John, he didn’t know how to ask for it but John understood anyway. He always did.

John sat back, taking Sherlock with him. The doctor grasped Sherlock’s thigh, tugging and lifting until the detective allowed himself to be arranged on John’s lap, straddling the small man beneath him. Sherlock liked this very much; he liked looking down at John, feeling his mouth beneath him, the warm solid press of their chests. He liked the way he rested on John’s thighs, they were strong and firm, steady and sure. John’s hands began to wander and Sherlock liked that so much he almost stopped kissing John. He didn’t though.

John began by allowing his fingers to release the curls he’d gripped so tightly, trailing his fingertips slowly down Sherlock’s spine until he got to the detective’s waist. His fingers spread out then and with flattened palms John slide his hands back up to press between Sherlock’s shoulder-blades for a moment. John then dropped his hands down to Sherlock’s knees, both at the doctor’s hips, knees dug deep into the cushions. John rubbed his hands slowly up and down Sherlock’s thighs, not touching anywhere indiscrete but still managing to make Sherlock tingle from head to toe with want. Sherlock finally broke their never-ending kiss, “You can touch if you like.” he offered softly.

It was flattering how John didn’t hesitate. The second Sherlock’s mouth was back on his the doctor allowed his wandering hands to roam over Sherlock’s behind, groaning into the detective’s mouth. John  pulled away with a gasp, “Jesus fuck Sherlock,” Sherlock found himself being pulled forward so he was nearly laying on John’s shoulder so the doctor could look down Sherlock’s back to watch his own hands caress Sherlock, “This has been a dream of mine for far too long.” murmured John, “This is better than any fantasy.” John squeezed and kneaded, rubbed and cupped Sherlock’s bottom for the longest time. It made Sherlock blush but at the same time he liked how it felt to be touched like that, the reverent sounds John made were encouraging, and the doctor was becoming increasingly daring, his fingers now sliding over the seam of Sherlock’s trousers as if he wished they weren’t in the way. Sherlock wished for that too.

John had to be able to tell how aroused Sherlock was. There was no mistaking the hard jut of Sherlock’s cock digging into the doctor’s belly. John’s hips were too low for Sherlock to be able to determine if the doctor was similarly aroused but when Sherlock tentatively rocked his hips John groaned appreciatively and ran his hands down Sherlock’s legs before moving back to his arse. Sherlock didn’t know how to articulate his desires so he just said it, “I want to be naked with you.”

Once again John didn’t hesitate. He pushed them both off the sofa, Sherlock’s feet landing neatly on either side of John’s. With a devilish grin John herded Sherlock toward his bedroom, both men laughing softly as they shut the door firmly behind them. John was cheeky and teasing, unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt just enough to bite as his chest, making Sherlock gasp. Sherlock retaliated when John made to pull his jumper off, Sherlock trapped his head and arms for a moment, lavishing kisses on John’s chest for only a moment before letting John undress the rest of the way. John’s grin was toothier than ever, his eyes dark and full of passion.

Sherlock was entirely naked before he realized he should have felt bashful in front of John except that he didn’t. Being naked in front of John was no different than being fully dressed in front of John, it was comfortable and natural. John looked Sherlock over from head to toe with unabashed delight, “I’ll never have enough time to do everything I want to do to you.” he said, “It’s going to take forever.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say or if he could even speak. He was too amazed at what he was looking at. John was simply divine. His body was hard and soft at the same time. His scars splashed over his body, randomly cutting across one another occasionally, the most magnificent of which was of course the scar on his shoulder. The only thing more glorious than John’s scars was his cock. Sherlock couldn’t breathe. It was long and so thick, the head heavy, the foreskin pulled back just a bit to reveal his slit. Everything in Sherlock begged him to fall to his knees and adore it. He didn’t argue the impulse. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing, “Can I taste you?”

John sat back on the bed heavily as if his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer. Sherlock looked up at him, John looked almost dazed, his eyes black with passion, “Whatever you want Sherlock.”

Whatever he wanted? Sherlock wanted everything. Keeping his eyes open Sherlock leaned in and began to explore. He wanted to know what John tasted like so he was going to taste John everywhere. That would take a long time too because he’d started with the head of John’s cock which was delicious and satisfying to have in his mouth so he didn’t want to leave and John made no move to discourage him. Was this how lovers normally progressed? He hadn’t even touched John elsewhere, had done nothing more than kiss him a few times but now he was on his knees in front of the doctor and determined to continue.

It felt curious to have a cock in his mouth. The texture was highly satisfying as was the flavor. It felt interesting to have his jaw stretched so wide, his lips straining to make it round John’s shaft without grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Sherlock could manage the head of John’s cock but not much more. He made do with his hands, copying the motions he used on himself during his rare masturbatory moments. John seemed to enjoy it very much so Sherlock did other things he liked, cupping his testicles and stroking the insides of John’s thighs as his tongue lapped and his mouth sucked curious kisses as his hands stroked steadily.

John’s fingers threaded themselves through Sherlock’s curls again, this time cupping the back of his head and pushing his cock deeper into Sherlock’s mouth until he was stretched wide, the head bumping the back of Sherlock’s throat, “Oh god, sorry!” John made to pull away but Sherlock managed to shake his head a tiny bit. Something about how John had just taken control had sent a shock wave of lust through Sherlock, he wanted to feel it again. Cautiously John tightened his grip and Sherlock shivered, feeling a strange heat building inside him. John pulled him forward again and both of them groaned when his cock bumped against the back of Sherlock’s mouth. He was drooling now, he couldn’t help it but that seemed to excite John even more. He tugged again and Sherlock willingly allowed John to guide him, moving him as fast or slow as the doctor liked, telling him to suck or lick until both of them were gasping. John’s hands were tight on his skull now, his fingers kept forcibly straight so he didn’t dig right into Sherlock but he still kept Sherlock exactly as he wished, his thrusts becoming short and jagged as he approached his release. Sherlock’s hands kept their steady stroke, he leaned into it, trying to keep his eyes on John’s face as the soldier’s head fell back.

Sherlock’s jaw was almost painfully stretched when John came, his thick cock growing ever so slightly thicker but after several minutes of thorough use, Sherlock wasn’t sure he would be able to handle the thick streams of come that emptied into his mouth but he tried. He felt another jolt of pleasure as he struggled to swallow, the bitter taste of John instantly captured and thrown into its own special room of his mind palace right next to the heat of it, the sounds John made, the way his body twisted and arced back onto the bed, the way John’s thighs tightened against Sherlock so he was holding onto him, grounding himself as he finally pulled away and lay back, sweat-soaked and still moaning softly. Sherlock sat back on his heels, his head against John’s leg as he panted, nearly as exhausted as John, his erection too sensitive to touch. He needed a minute to calm himself down so he stayed where he was, letting his heart-rate drop and his breathing to even out. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes.

John’s voice sounded gravelly when he spoke, “You’ve never done anything with anyone ever?” Sherlock shook his head, he’d never ever kissed anyone until John had earlier and told John so. There was another minute of silence before John burst out, “God you’re _amazing_. Fuck I almost passed out there.” Sherlock grinned into John’s thigh. He was so tired but his erection was demanding attention. John nudged him, “Come up here.”

Weakly Sherlock managed to get off his knees and onto the bed. John reached for Sherlock’s cock but he managed to stop him, “Too much,” he said, it was far too sensitive at the moment. Sherlock didn’t know how other people managed but his body was highly receptive to information on all levels, it was easy to become overwhelmed by sensations. Once again John understood and just kissed Sherlock gently, letting him lay back on the pillows while John leaned against him. The doctor let his free hand trail over Sherlock’s skin, touching and exploring slowly. They both learned that a gentle caress affected the younger man more powerfully than direct manipulation and John seemed to find it hypnotic, barely brushing his fingers over Sherlock’s chest and belly to make him squirm and huff out excited breaths, his heart racing all over again.

He needed friction but he didn’t think he could bear to have John’s hand directly on him. John solved the problem by laying back and letting Sherlock sit astride his hips, his flaccid cock pressed between them, his hands on the generous globes of Sherlock’s arse, “Go on, take whatever you need.”

Sherlock’s cock was weeping now, the clear fluid dripping down copiously onto John’s soft belly. With a moan Sherlock allowed himself to rub against it, the gentle rasp of the hair on John’s belly just enough stimulation to make his thighs quiver with anticipation. His testicles grazed over John’s and it made him tremble even more as he began to move his hips. John’s hands never left his ass but he didn’t maneuver Sherlock, he allowed the detective to chase his pleasure, watching carefully, his fingers stroking over the sensitive skin of Sherlock’s behind and adding to the rapidly climbing pleasure that already threatened to peak. Suddenly John’s fingers spread him wide and with a single swirl of a finger Sherlock was shouting his way through an orgasm so intense it was nearly painful, his come landing in small straight lines across John’s chest.

Now that it was over Sherlock could accept all the caresses John lavished on him, his skin glowing with sweat, his stomach slick with come as he lay right on top of his lover, eyes closed and nearly delirious with the intoxicating feeling of pure satisfaction. John seemed very pleased to keep Sherlock close, even if they were gelling together slightly. At long last Sherlock felt somewhat able to sit up, wiping the mess from his stomach with a careless hand. It was hopeless anyway, they’d need to shower but he couldn’t walk quite yet. John looked inordinately pleased with himself and though it took some effort Sherlock managed to blush all over again, “That was amazing.” said John, his expression unchanging, he looked as satisfied as Sherlock felt. “I honestly wasn’t expecting any of that.”

Sherlock was instantly concerned, “You didn’t mind did you John, was I supposed to say something? I…” John shushed him by pulling him back onto his sticky chest and kissing him soundly.

“That was the most amazing time I’ve ever had and we’re just getting started. I don’t know about you but I’m pretty much done with being patient.” Sherlock grinned weakly as he looked down at John’s sincere face; he liked the sound of that very much. This entire experience had been substantially more pleasurable than he’d ever imagined sex could be. Clearly his personal endeavors had been pale indicators of what true passion could feel like, and John said they were just getting started. They were leaving for Mummy’s estate tomorrow and Sherlock had never felt less like departing. John eerily echoed Sherlock’s sentiments but added, “Now just imagine how much fun we’re going to be having defiling her house. How many rooms did you say there were?”

Sherlock blushed and laughed softly, hiding his face in John’s hair. He couldn’t imagine getting up to anything sexual while they were at his mother’s house but his old bedroom was isolated, it wouldn’t be like anyone could hear them. Flushing heavily he answered, “Mummy has ten guest rooms aside from our personal rooms, as far as I know my old rooms are as they ever were.”

“Are we staying together or would you prefer me in my own room?” Sherlock hadn’t considered that. What would Mummy say? Her plans had been to introduce Sherlock to whomever it was she had deemed worthy of their bloodline, Sherlock didn’t imagine she’d planned for John to be sleeping with him.

“Together John though to be honest it’s going to cause a bit of a stir.”

“Well that’s what I’m here for, stirring things.” said John complacently, “I don’t want to repack all our luggage anyway, everything fits perfectly right now.” John lay there for a moment, “She’s really going to go spare isn’t she.”

“There might be sharp words involved.” said Sherlock with trepidation.

“Rate her on a scale from one to Mycroft, with one being Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft being an absolute shit.”

“Mycroft with several decades experience at being discontent, she spends her days traveling from one fashion show to another.” Sherlock felt his happy bliss beginning to bleed away but John just smacked him on the behind, “John!”

“Up we get. We need a shower and to change the bedding, I’m ordering one of those special sex blankets online, we’re going to need one.” Sex-blankets? How much sex was John planning on having? John answered before Sherlock could even ask, “Believe it or not I’ve been fantasizing about this for years, I have plenty of ideas, we may need to discuss safe words and hand signals.”

John rolled out of bed and left a very shocked Sherlock sitting there. Safe words? Hand signals? What kind of sex maniac was John Watson? Sherlock found himself grinning wolfishly. Finally he’d found a partner who seemed to be as interested in experiments as he was, even if those experiments took place more or less between the sheets. Sherlock was a scientist; he understood that the environment was part of the study. It was a matter of integrity to examine as many variables as possible, repeatedly if necessary.

Sherlock found he was extremely tired and the hot shower only made the tired feeling grow. He was yawning when they got out, slowly helping John smooth new sheets onto his bed before sprawling out over it, “You’ve made me lazy.” he accused John.

“You were always lazy,” John smacked Sherlock’s behind lightly before laying the duvet over his nude body, “I love your arse. I’m never getting tired of doing that.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled. He was glad that John liked his one decent body part. John climbed into bed after shutting off all the lights. Cuddling up to Sherlock John ran his fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine, “I love your back too, I like how it looks when you stretch out. Do you have any idea how many times I came a hair’s breadth away from touching your back just because I found it beautiful? I managed to stop myself, not many flatmates seem to like it when their roomie starts pawing at them for no reason.”

Sherlock laughed softly, reaching out and gingerly laying his hand on John’s soft belly. John sucked it in automatically but Sherlock just rubbed his hand lazily back and forth until John relaxed again, “I’ve wanted to do this for years now. You have no idea how much I’ve wondered about how you feel.”

“Do I live up to your expectations?”

“You exceed them. I love the way you feel John, in fact, I may have to keep you as nude as possible whenever I can.” John giggled boyishly at that and Sherlock had to hug him tight. He felt so amazing, so incredibly happy and content he almost didn’t recognize himself. John rubbed his back slowly again and with a smile that wouldn’t fade Sherlock fell asleep.

The next morning John kissed Sherlock awake and chased him back into the shower where they ran out of hot water after John got on his knees for Sherlock. The feel of John’s mouth on him had been incredible enough to make Sherlock nearly weep with the delight of it all, the doctor’s hot wet mouth and wicked tongue forcing the new room in Sherlock’s mind palace expand into its own wing, all to be dedicated to the pleasures shared with John. As he leaned against the wall recovering he pulled John against his chest, reaching in front to take John in hand, pulling swiftly. It only took a moment under the ice-cold water before the doctor was all caught up, Sherlock’s hand now needing a fresh scrub with a soapy flannel. Rinsing off and gasping for breath they got out as quickly as they could manage to dry off, shivering but still stopping to kiss each other over and over again. Sherlock wondered if the flush would ever fade from his cheeks. Even after they were dressed to travel and John was in the middle of making a large breakfast the doctor still managed to pinch Sherlock’s behind twice and Sherlock blushed both times. He had also protested but didn’t move very far away, in case John wanted to do it again.

It took both of them to haul their luggage downstairs. They stopped to see Mrs. Hudson, giving her the basket of gifts they’d collected. John had finally come across a present he’d felt was appropriate for a woman he’d never met before. Sherlock looked it over and agreed that Mummy would find it very beautiful. They had time to give Mrs. Hudson a hug each, and to receive a kiss on the tips of their noses and a paper-sack filled with treats for the drive. Mycroft’s car pulled up and the driver loaded all their things for them. Deliberately not thinking about what they were about to do Sherlock climbed into the car with John and let the door shut behind him. Next stop, Mummy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally....off to see Mummy and all the cousins. Yay!


	6. Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have come to a long awaited agreement between themselves and it's about time! Now to go visit Sherlock's family. Hooray!

It was afternoon when the car finally pulled into a discrete gated entrance, the hedges high and the stone well-fitted. The driver spoke into a small camera and the gates swung open to admit them to the property. Sherlock had done well for the most part. John had kept him amused the entire way with stories about being in the army, or the odd things he’d done while at medical school, some escapades almost earning him a farewell from the school in question. Sherlock couldn’t help laughing along, John’s stories were always quick and engaging, Sherlock never had time to get bored of one before John moved onto another. They held hands occasionally but John was an animated speaker, waving around as he described different things, his body playing as large a role in his tales as his words. Sherlock was riveted. They’d stopped for a couple of short breaks along the way, subsisting on Mrs. Hudson’s baked goods and take-away coffee but otherwise made their journey without pause.

Sherlock didn’t start getting uncomfortable until they were most of the way down the long drive-way and nearly at Mummy’s. John just took his hand and squeezed it for a moment. John looked up and Sherlock and surprised him with a rather fierce and heated kiss. Sherlock smiled down at John after, his nerves entirely gone because he had a sassy and bold soldier by his side. He’d be perfectly fine. John should have been the one who was nervous but he was calm and steady. Sherlock soaked in his tranquility and grew determined to survive this week no matter what.

The car stopped at the base of a wide set of stone stairs that climbed shallowly to end in a large covered entrance. A man in livery came down to open their door, two others appeared at the boot to remove their luggage, and another still escorted them in. Sherlock looked at the porters; “Everything goes to my room.” they nodded and bore it all away. “I see Mummy has the full show going.” he said acerbically. More liveried people came out to relieve them of their coats and to escort them further inside.

The house was exquisitely pretentious. Papa had preferred to display the honors of the Holmes family but after he’d passed Mummy had retired one piece after another and replaced them with contemporary art-works that Sherlock found discordant in his ancient home. He missed the old banners and shields that used to grace the upper levels, now large tapestries and all manner of brilliantly colored artwork were displayed. All of it was beautiful but he was moved by none of it.

Mummy was waiting for them in her private receiving room. “My son.” she said happily. Sherlock dutifully bent his head so she could waft air-kissed toward his cheeks. His mother was elegantly garbed in an extravagant gown made of subdued colors and lavish fabric that complemented the complex coils of her silver hair. Mummy’s fingers were expertly manicured, her smooth hands bearing delicate rings and jewels that twinkled expensively and accentuated the pile of curls artfully arranged on her head. Her eyes were still the same brilliant blue he recalled, cold and judging no matter how warm the smile on her perfectly made-up face, “My sweet little boy.” Mummy drew back, the tiniest of frowns on her brow, “You’ve become bigger than Mycroft! Sherlock! What has happened? I’m going to have to arrange some time at a spa for you. Just look at the state of you! I’ll have to get Gerard to see to you before dinner.”

Mummy had just called him fat. He hadn’t even had time to introduce John to her and she was already disappointed in his appearance. Sherlock’s heart sank. John stepped forward, a broad smile on his face, “That’d be my fault. We do a lot of dangerous work; he needs fuel to keep going. I’m afraid I’ve been making him eat on a regular basis; I was in the army so I’m professionally trained to be stubborn about things like that. Doctor John Watson. Thanks so much for inviting me,” he held out his hand and Mummy extended hers to be kissed. John shook her limp fingers instead and smiled up at Sherlock, “A spa sounds great! We could use some of those therapeutic massages.”

It took everything in Sherlock’s skill set to not react. Mummy didn’t know what to make of John. He’d completely derailed her insult and she didn’t quite know what to do with him. When his mother turned questioning eyes up at him Sherlock said, “Mummy, I’d like you to meet my partner, Captain John Watson, MD. John, please allow me to introduce you to my mother, Violet Holmes.”

Mummy’s eyes raked over John and Sherlock felt a smidgen of satisfaction when she could find no fault with his outfit. John was wearing the very latest fashions from a prominent London designer, everything fitted perfectly to the good doctor, “Doctor Watson. At long last we meet.” John smiled and made no reference to the fact that he’d lived in London with Sherlock for years now, excluding the time he’d been dead of course, and she’d never made a single effort to see her son. When they did meet Sherlock always went to her, and this was the first time she’d ever acknowledged John’s existence. “I had hoped that your reputation would have provided my son some tips but clearly that hope was for nothing. Sherlock, is this not the same man known as _Three Continent’s Watson_? I’m positive his history is filled with ladies of all sorts. Surely as your best friend this man could have shown you how to meet at least one acceptable woman?”

John cut in again, “Well there was one Woman, but she kind of lost her head over something, it didn’t work out.” Sherlock’s eyes widened infinitesimally at John’s oblique reference to The Woman. He hadn’t thought of Irene Adler since well before he’d pretended to commit suicide. John didn’t like The Woman, she’d always made him edgy and defensive, her insinuations driving a wedge between them as she fanned the flames of uncertainty and shame in everyone she spoke to. It wasn’t until she was well gone that Sherlock realized that while she had fascinated him Irene Adler had also repelled him, much like Kitty Riley had. There was something grasping in their characters, something willing to take and take and take without regard to the cost paid by others.  Even Moriarty had purpose, wicked though it was. The others were merely soulless parasites who fed off the small wounds and darkness of strangers. How different they were than women like Mrs. Hudson or Doctor Hooper, both strong women in their own way, gentle but steady, admirable.

Mummy looked grateful as John made it sound like he’d tried to get Sherlock to meet someone, “Well you are in for a treat. Doctor Watson, you are in the Blue Room, Sherlock can show you the way. When you are unpacked and refreshed from your journey I will meet you in the Yellow Room.”

“Oh we won’t be needing a second room.” said John easily. Sherlock stopped breathing as John just reached over and took his hand, “All our things are already in Sherlock’s room, I think we’ll be fine.”

Mummy was entirely shocked and looked up at Sherlock with disbelief. “Sherlock? What is going on here?”

“I came this week to introduce you properly to John. I know you had plans for this week but I’m afraid John might have something to say about that, he’s my _partner_ so large decisions like children will really have to include him.”

Mummy stared back and forth between them, clearly finding it almost impossible to reconcile her preconceptions to the reality in front of her, “No, this is not true. This is not the way you are! Never once have you dated a man!”

“Never once have I dated anyone Mummy.” said Sherlock gently.

“In university…the trip….there were all those young ladies…” Mummy’s hands fluttered anxiously.

“There were also young men and I wasn’t interested in any of them.”

“No. You are doing this on purpose! You are being deliberately stubborn and this farce will not work on me. No. You, my son,” she pointed sharply at Sherlock, “Are going to march yourself to dinner and visit with the people I have brought here to meet you. You will show your face to the family so I can stop answering those ridiculous questions about your continued existence!” Mummy turned sharply to face John, “You,” her narrow finger jabbed at John aggressively, “You should be _ashamed_ of yourself to attempt this! You will remove yourself from my home entirely. You and this charade are unwelcome in my presence. Leave now.”

Sherlock hardened, this was John and nobody was going to speak to John like that. “Mummy, it grieves me to admit this but the only reason I even asked to see you this year was so I could for once do something good for John. _He_ is nothing but good to _me_ , he has supported and encouraged me through the entirety of our association, I have grown to respect and love him, to value and appreciate him for all that he is. If you are unwilling to make even the slightest effort to get to know the person capable of making me feel this way then I will make a brief showing at dinner but will not remain. Where John is unwelcome I am unwelcome.”

“You will remain here my boy or I promise you I will make you regret your actions.” Mummy was cold and threatening now, “I have waited all these long years for you to get over all the pointless interests that have distracted you from your potential. Your brother is entirely hopeless; he will never marry and continue the family line. You will do it. You are the ultimate Holmes, and tonight you will meet those I have brought here specifically to get to know you _and you will know them!”_ her voice was low and serious.

“And if I leave?” Sherlock needed to know what her threat was.

Mummy drew herself up, “You probably noticed that I’ve finally joined the technology era. It’s simply thrilling. I’ve learned how to blog, Doctor Watson knows all about that doesn’t he? I have hundreds and hundreds of pictures just waiting to be made publically available.”

Sherlock blanched. This was exactly what he had feared. There would be no mistaking him; his eyes alone would give him away. Everyone would know what he used to do and they would laugh! He would never work as a detective again, his face would be known everywhere, there would be nowhere to hide! John laughed, “ _That’s_ the big threat? Putting up pictures of your son working as a model?” John’s laughter pealed out again, “Wait….wait…this is too good.” John pulled out his mobile and worked for a minute. Sherlock frowned. John…what…what was John doing? The doctor held up his mobile, “There, all done. Look.”

Sherlock pulled out his own phone and checked his notifications. Following the link quickly Sherlock nearly gasped when he saw all the photographs Mummy had sent had been posted to John’s blog under the caption “ _Met Sherlock’s Mum – look how cute Sherlock was when he was a teen! He could have been a top model!_ ” Comments were already pouring in.

  * _Detectives r hawt!_

  * _Ur so cute! Wish I had a crime for u 2 solve <3_

  * _I showed my dad! He wants you to help with a problem he has, will PM later!_

  * _Adorbs! Glad ur a detective tho. Sherlock5eva!_

  * _I like #3 and #5, the eyes are happier. Eat something._

  * _^^^this, have a sandwich dude!_

  * _Too skinny for my taste, I like my detectives with a little meat on their bones ;)_

  * _Aw he took you to meet his mum <3 does that mean we finally have an announcement to look forward to?_

  * _Glad you grew your hair out! You don’t look good with short hair! Love your work :D_

  * _Is your skin naturally that pale or is it makeup? Does JW have model pictures too? Share!_

  * _Right on Mr. Fashion Detective! Brains are always in style_

  * _Goddammit Sherlock, no wonder you’re so good at undercover work! Call me, we have a case – GL_

  * _Aw show some pictures with you in the hat! These are great. Sexy detective <3_

  * _Are there more? These are amazing, who was the photographer?_

  * _Everyone says you and Dr. J are a thing, is that true? I hope so, ur cute together._

  * _LOL John! Sherlock must be pouting now! Tell him to pop by, I have some interesting things on ice <3 <3 <3 Molly_

  * _Oh they should have posted these when he came back to life! He looks like a zombie here, was he tortured? How awful! I’m glad you didn’t die!_

  * _LONDON RULES! We have the hottest detective around YAY SHERLOCK_

  * _Mum says you’re the detective who found daddy. Thank you Mr. Sherlock! I didn’t want mummy to be sad anymore but you made us both happy._

  * _If you and Dr Watson aren’t dating can I ask you out? I’ll IM my number. *fingers-crossed*_

  * _Don’t be creepy, they’ve been dating for years. Everyone knows that._

  * _No they haven’t! Doctor Watson always says they’re not a couple._

  * _Yah but he has to say that or creepy stalkers (like you) get all up in their business._

  * _Hey I just wanted to know if they were dating, I’m not creepy!_

  * _They’ve been together since he got back, where have you been? Under a rock?_




Suddenly other pictures bloomed in the comments, pictures of John and Sherlock on the streets of London where their picture had been taken without them being aware, all with captions like “ _So in love – Obvious_ ” and “ _Secretly married? Rumors won’t stop_.” and Sherlock had to smile when someone posted a picture of John patching Sherlock up while Sherlock sat inside an ambulance. John was clearly lecturing him but the caption read “ _Best friends + true love_ ” before the comments digressed into an in-depth conversation about the deerstalker hat and it’s evolution through history. Mummy stared at John’s mobile in disbelief.

John finally lowered it and read off some of the comments, chuckling and texting Lestrade back. “So there you go, Sherlock’s huge secret had been outed and no one batted an eye. You’re not going to shock our clients Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock jumped off a building in broad daylight and convinced everyone he was dead for years. People just take it for granted that he’s unusual, you can’t show anything to anyone who knows him that will surprise them. For crying out loud his favorite place to relax is the morgue! He’s known for his mind, not his looks, the way he thinks is why we have clients to begin with. People pay him to be smart, to deduce, to solve their problems, not to look good, even if he does.” John ended with a completely cheeky wink directly straight up to Sherlock who was doing his level best to remained stone-faced. John was always so much more than he appeared to be, how could he be so angry yet so damnably flirtatious at the same time?

Mummy looked furious that John had defused her threat. She glared at Sherlock with something akin to triumph, “All the more reason to have children then. Sherlock, you are the last possible chance the Holmes family has of continuation. You have no reason whatsoever not to meet my guests.”

“No reason except John.” said Sherlock softly, “You can introduce me to whom you please Mummy but I will not be with anyone but John. Besides, you kicked John out. I do believe we’re going back to London now.” Sherlock made to leave.

“Stop!” Sherlock turned to face his mother who looked angry but determined. “You can stay for dinner. You can at the very least meet the women I have selected for you and consider my request. Is it so onerous a task for you to beget children? Most men find the process highly enjoyable.”

“I am not most men. I am in a committed relationship with someone I respect highly and I do not consider stepping out on him in order to give you grandchildren to be particularly respectful! I can’t be clearer than this Mummy _, John and I are together_. It’s not an arrangement for convenience; indeed John’s life would be considerably simpler without me. He cares and I care too. I’ve already agreed to see the family, I don’t see the point in lingering to meet people to whom I will never be able to extend the offer you are so hoping I will make.”

“There’s always surrogates.” said John blithely, “I mean, I’m not saying no to children entirely, we just haven’t had a chance to discuss it. Maybe we won’t want kiddies, maybe we will. _We_ decide though, not you.” the gaze he directed at Mummy had no humor in it.

Mummy was attempting not to frown harder though she clearly wanted to, “I would not have just _anyone_ bear my grandchild.”

“Yeah I was thinking of someone from the homeless network, you know, give a girl a warm home for a year, she has a kid for us.” Sherlock’s face froze again as he tried not to laugh. He recognized the dry tone in John’s voice, he was joking but only because he was seriously close to losing his temper. “Sherlock’s a scientist and I’m a doctor, we wouldn’t even need to have sex with her. I bet those turkey baster stories aren’t all lies.”

Mummy looked stunned and horrified especially when Sherlock looked down at John, “Any industrial syringe would be sufficient John, the depositing of the seed is the easy part. We’d need to track menstrual cycles to determine prime ovulation times, we’d need someone for more than a year.”

“Well there’s lots of homeless ladies, I’m sure we could find a nice one.” said John reasonably. “What about Mad Alice, she’s pretty interesting.”

“Mad Alice thinks she’s the reincarnation of Tesla’s pigeon. On the other hand she does have extensive knowledge of physics; she’d be stimulating to converse with.”

“Clarice the Cutter?”

“She’s in prison for assault.”

“What about Jess the Mess?”

“Reformed, runs a half-way house now, very strict, plus I think she’s married.”

“Oh, well, they were my favorites.” said John with a twinkle in his eye.

Mummy was nearly hyperventilating at the list of names. They were all real people, all part of Sherlock’s homeless network. All of them had their own particular reasons for living the lives they did, John and Sherlock cared for them as best they could, tipping heavily for information when they needed it, and John offering small rounds of free health-care when he could manage, or at least getting the soul in question to the correct facility for assistance. “You can’t seriously expect to have a child with someone you know nothing about?” she cried.

“Why not? You thought I could. Unlike the women you expect me _to know_ I actually am acquainted with and to some degree care about the members of my network. They wouldn’t accept such a proposal from us but they would be far more acceptable to me than the likely vacuous and vain fashionistas you have waiting!”

“Will you at least meet them?” Sherlock looked at his mother curiously, wondering why this was so urgent for her but frowned when she continued, “John can wait for you in your room.”

Did she seriously think he would hide John in his room like a shameful secret while she attempted to match him to some strange woman for the purposes of procreation? “Goodbye Mummy, we’ll stop in at the dining room on our way out. Come along John.”

“Oh for goodness sake stop!” ordered Mummy with frustration. “Fine!” Mummy took a short sharp breath before speaking sweetly, “John, welcome to my home. Won’t you and Sherlock join us for dinner?”

John was standing at ease and Sherlock knew he was completely furious but you’d never know it from the warm friendly tone he used for his reply, “That sounds charming, I’ll just check with my better half, Sherlock? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Sherlock looked down at John. He had a strange expression on, oddly triumphant and Sherlock wondered for a moment what he should do. Should they just leave and go to London? Somehow that felt a bit like running away and Sherlock realized what John was asking. The soldier wanted to leave too but they weren’t done yet. There was still the rest of the battle to fight and John Watson did not walk away. “I would be completely delighted John if you would do me the extreme honor of joining me for dinner here.”

“There we are, all sorted. Mrs. Holmes we would be pleased to join you for dinner.” Mummy looked sour but nodded curtly. Without speaking another word she led the way from her rooms to the small hall where a gathering was waiting for them. Sherlock walked beside his lover. John completely amazing. His soldier had just marched in and made everything alright and he wasn’t even breathing hard. If they’d only had a moment alone together Sherlock would have demonstrated how deeply this entire episode had affected him. As it was he had to make do with holding John’s hand as lovingly as he could as they walked side by side down the hallways.

Fully composed by the time they arrived Mummy swept in with a pleased smile on her face, stopping in the doorway so everyone had time to drink in her extravagant gown. John and Sherlock followed after she deigned to move, standing there hand in hand and endured the mass of eyes that latched onto them. “Hello.” said Sherlock. He made no effort to make eye-contact with anyone in particular. None of them were of interest to him.

“I guess you really are alive.” said someone in the back. Sherlock glanced over the opulently garbed crowd with a distinct lack of familial warmth. Everyone looked exactly as he recalled; cold, calculating, and all with expressions of sweet vindictiveness. The beauty of their clothes did nothing to soften the ugliness of their characters.

“Clearly.” said Sherlock dryly, “Everyone, this is my partner Doctor John Watson. John, I’m not going to bore you by introducing you to anyone, we’re leaving as soon as possible anyway.” John snorted with laughter as Sherlock just towed him by the hand toward the dinner table. These people didn’t deserve to know John at all; he was too good for their company. Mummy was doing her best not to frown again, her welcoming expression especially strained around her eyes as she greeted her way past everyone.

There were two women waiting near the head of the table. They had been chatting with Mycroft and clearly waiting for Sherlock. Each one was sumptuously dressed in vibrantly colored but soberly cut dresses that made the most of their long lean figures. Both women were curvaceous without being soft, their faces angular, their hair even more elaborately dressed than Mummy’s. Apart from the fact that one was blonde and the other brunette you could barely distinguish between them. Their faces were identically shocked as they looked at John’s hand in Sherlock’s. “Brother.” Mycroft looked disapprovingly at Sherlock, “How did you convince the doctor to do this?”

John’s head snapped around to fix Mycroft with a steely gaze though his tone was warm, “Now now don’t be like that Mycroft, just because Sherlock brought his boyfriend and you didn’t there’s no need to get sulky about it,” said John with the same soft dangerous smile he’d had on earlier, “We’ll be seeing Greg later anyway, want us to pass along a message?”

Sherlock looked sharply at Mycroft. What had John learned that he hadn’t? Mycroft’s face was a study in supressed shock, “I have no idea what you mean.” he said coolly but Sherlock could see his brother was examining John intently. “May I present Tamsin Jones and Nicola Kingston.” Sherlock nodded shallowly and both ladies nodded back, “Ladies may I present my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes and his…partner, Doctor John Watson.”

Clearly disconcerted the one named Tamsin extended her hand which John shook warmly and Sherlock ignored, “So you’re all cousins.” stated John, “How’s that work then?”

Tamsin answered, “We are very distantly connected to the Holmes family through our fathers.” She clearly had been prepared for an evening of light flirtation and trailed off.

Nicola finally stopped staring at their linked hands, “We were given to understand…”

“Yes yes, Mummy probably promised you the Holmes fortune if you’d have my child. No thanks, I’m taken, but it was very pleasant meeting you. Perhaps if you’re not boring you can be on our list for consideration when we choose a surrogate.”

“Oi, we haven’t decided to have kids yet!” protested John who turned to the ladies, “It’s been tabled for later discussion. We just had this conversation, I swear he never listens!”

“I _do_ listen John when there’s something worth listening to. There’s no point wasting an opportunity to gather data even if we don’t plan to use it. Information is always valuable.” Sherlock turned to them, “We’ll need to know about your medical history as well as your educational ideology. If we do have children they’re not going to be Andersons.”

Nicola looked at Sherlock, her face still startled and even more puzzled than ever, “My mother’s maiden name was Anderson.”

“Then I’m sorry but you are right out of the running. John take her name off the list.”

“We don’t have a list! Don’t listen to him, he needs to eat. He’s only had biscuits this afternoon and he gets unreasonable when he’s not fed regularly.”

“Low blood sugar.” said Tamsin, “He needs more small meals than big ones. He could by hypoglycemic.” John and Sherlock looked at her appraisingly, “It runs in the Holmes family. I did an extensive background check when I was first approached by Violet.”

Sherlock examined her from head to toe. Tamsin’s hair was as dark as Nicola’s was light, their looks so similar they could have been sisters instead of cousins. Sherlock saw they could have been even more alike if Nicola had retained her natural hair color as Tamsin clearly had. The brunette was extravagantly dressed for the night but the cut of her clothes indicated some slight sense, but what was more interesting was the look of curiosity in her face, “You have a question.”

“Well several actually. When you falsified your death what method did you actually use to produce the appearance of suicide? Did you have accomplices that helped you? When you were abroad did you have to use false identities? Are those difficult to obtain? What connections did you utilize while you were away? How did you make them in the first place? It is curious how many borders you crossed without effort, did you plan for that or did you have to make it up as you went along? When you came back to London you had to be declared alive again, is there actually paperwork for that or did they have to come up with an entire process just for you? Did you get a new birth certificate or did they just sort of reactivate your old one?”

John looked up at Sherlock, “Okay she’s on the list.”

“Indeed John.” Sherlock wasn’t sure if John was absolutely serious about searching for surrogates to have their child, especially since they hadn’t actually formalized their relationship or even had penetrative sex yet. It seemed a bit premature to be planning for children, but on the other hand Tamsin was surprisingly interesting and they were already there. As long as John felt like staying Sherlock had no objection to remaining where he was as well, he looked at Nicola, “Do you have questions?”

She flushed prettily and looked chagrined, “I…I see my cousin Drake, I do believe I will excuse myself.” she nodded at everyone and left as demurely as she could.

“She’s very sweet.” offered Tamsin, “A lovely girl.”

“What else is she?” asked Sherlock sharply.

Tamsin bit her lip, “She’s very friendly?” she offered, clearly not wanting to speak ill of the other girl.

Sherlock smiled, this one was interesting. Against his will Sherlock decided Mummy had actually chosen rather well but he wasn’t going to let her win by falling into bed with Tamsin, even metaphorically. John went right for the throat, “Why’d you want to have Sherlock’s kid?”

Tamsin looked a bit surprised at being asked this; people were beginning to approach the table to be seated for dinner, “I wanted to experience gestation.”

“You wanted to have a baby.”

“Not exactly.” she said and she bit her lip again and looked a bit reluctant to speak.

“Gestation and having a baby are generally considered to be the same thing.”

“Possibly.” she said. She directed a sharp look at them, everyone was getting closer, Mummy hovering hopefully on the far side of the table as the conversation continued, “Okay I wanted to know what it was like to be pregnant but I don’t actually want to have a child. When Violet approached me she had already spoken to my mother who, like Violet, despairs of ever having a grandchild. I don’t care much for children and I’m not very good at relationships. I actually don’t care much for people in general. To be perfectly frank I’m here to shut my mother up. If I could be alone forever I would. I met Violet through one of my agency jobs. I worked as a model for a while but it’s very boring, at least to me. I’ve been trying to save enough money to move to Geneva but my parents won’t sign over my inheritance until the next generation is secured so…”

“You were going to use Sherlock to get out of your obligations and leave.” said John bluntly. Tamsin nodded unhappily.

“I wouldn’t have gone as far as marriage.” she said, looking miserable, “I just wanted to go study in peace.”

“She’s excellent. Top of the list.” said Sherlock happily. Tamsin was ideal. Geneva, she must have aspirations with one of the big projects there. That was even more interesting. A potential child with her might not be objectionable at all.

John chatted with Tamsin all through dinner which annoyed Mummy to no end since they seemed to be getting on very well. John sat between them like a human shield, not exactly ignoring Mummy but definitely not seeking to keep her conversation to himself. Mummy seemed satisfied to speak to others at the table and pretend that everything was exactly as she planned and refused to direct a comment directly to Sherlock though they sat next to one another. Sherlock sighed. There was a time in his life where this kind of coldness would have wounded him greatly but right now John was holding his hand and their feet were pressed together. Sherlock felt warm and cared for.

All through the meal Mummy kept eyeing Sherlock’s plate. Each bite he took received its own glance. Her plates remained nearly untouched serving after serving so despite the fact that he didn’t actually like any of the dishes being served Sherlock ate heartily. John was pleased and kept patting Sherlock’s knee encouragingly with each empty plate that was taken away. Tamsin didn’t seem to have a problem eating all her food either, absently having mouthfuls in between comments to John. John of course just ate like he always did, efficiently and without qualms. He had an iron stomach and was prepared to eat nearly anything. He’d made Sherlock try all sorts of bizarre things and for science Sherlock had gone along. He’d learned some surprising things along the way but that’s how it was with John. He could take any mundane activity like eating and turn it into something fascinating. He was the most captivating person Sherlock had ever met and gratefully he twined his fingers tighter into John’s and pressed their feet together a smidge closer.

Dessert was served and Mummy actually looked distressed when Sherlock accepted a helping. John made it worse by getting extra whipped cream for both their servings because he knew how much Sherlock loved it after catching Sherlock emptying an entire compressed can of it into a bowl so he could eat it with a spoon. Sherlock ate all his dessert in front of Mummy, enjoying the despair on her face a bit more than was possibly reasonable.

Dinner concluded late in the evening and everyone bade their goodnights. The rest of the week was filled with activities and tomorrow would see all of them return again for luncheon. John stood with everyone and Sherlock took him by the arm to escort Tamsin to her suite which was blatantly close to Sherlock’s, a mere three doors away. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his mother’s lack of subtlety. “Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes, it’s been interesting.” Tamsin nodded her head as she bid them goodnight.

John took Sherlock’s arm and walked them back to their room. The second the door was shut John pushed Sherlock up against it, surprising the detective with a kiss so heated that Sherlock didn’t realize his feet had actually left the floor because he was clinging to John with both arms and legs while the doctor held him pressed to the ancient wood. When John finally let him catch his breath he looked up into Sherlock’s eyes with a fiery gaze, “Remember when I said we could defile your mother’s home? Let’s get on that.”

“Oh god yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution - next chapter will be NSFW


	7. Mummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have gone to Mummy's estate to endure the days before Christmas. Mummy isn't so happy with everything.

Sherlock learned what it was like to drown. He drank John in, taking more and more but John always had more to give. Their lips pressed together, their tongues tangled and stroked as they gasped in each other’s air and tasted each other’s flavor. Sherlock knew he was addicted to John, addicted to anything the doctor cared to give him, he’d never have enough of John, his entire body hungered from head to toe for more.

John gave him more.

The kiss didn’t so much end as wandered as they lavished attention on every bit of skin they could reach, both men pushing jackets off of shoulders, tugging away ties, and fumbling with buttons. John nipped and bit as well and Sherlock’s hands stopped working properly for a moment. He was so frustrated he considered trying to push his trousers down his hips without opening them but John was there, deftly undoing his belt, unbuttoning him, reaching inside and _oh yes_!

The sharp knock at the door could not have been more ill-timed or unwelcome. John was scowling, his fingers wrapped firmly around Sherlock’s mostly-hard cock. Extracting their hands from the various places they’d been tucked both men quickly straightened their clothes. When they were buttoned up and Sherlock was sitting more or less discretely on the sofa in his bedroom John opened the door. Mycroft was standing there and he looked livid, “What are you two playing at?”

John stared up at him and his brow knitted further, “Playing at? What the fuck are _you_ playing at by knocking on our door this late at night?”

“ _Your_ door Doctor Watson? Exactly when did my brother’s _anything_ become yours? I find this entire fiasco to be in extremely poor taste.” Mycroft pushed his way into the room but stopped cold when he took in Sherlock’s appearance. He knew he was flushed, that his lips would be kiss swollen, that his pulse was still erratic, and that he looked exactly as he was, aroused and frustrated. Contempt and derision were heavy in his voice, “ _This_ is how you managed it? By paying the doctor with sexual favors? I suppose it was just a matter of time before you explored that technique as a viable optio…”

Mycroft found himself pinned to the door much like Sherlock had been earlier, his feet also well off the ground but the breathlessness he was experiencing was due to John’s hand at his throat as the smaller man snarled up at him, “ _You will never speak to Sherlock like that ever again Mycroft Holmes_.” John seemed to hold Mycroft up effortlessly and Sherlock couldn’t help the shuddering resurgence of passion that roared through him. John was stunning. Mycroft had to go, now. “I’m here with him to be here _with him_. I’m not interested in your fucking family dynamics or all the shitty things I’m sure I’ll both hear and see this week. Even if Sherlock and I weren’t together, _which we are_ , he still is and always has been my very best friend and I’m not taking your fucking shit any longer. Now you’ve helped us out more than once that’s true but you’ve made us pay dearly for each and every time _haven’t you_? No more Mycroft. We’re not running around the fucking country solving your problems because you’re too lazy to haul your arse out of your posh office. If you want our help in the future you’re going to make this week just wonderful for us. You can begin by leaving _our_ room immediately and by not coming back.”

John dropped Mycroft who sagged against the door looking furious, his face an unbecoming shade of red as he glared at the back of John’s head. Having nowhere graceful to go with his original conversational intent Mycroft had to resort to a weak, “You told Gregory you would help him.”

“No I told Greg we were here for the next seven days but that he could send us the photos. I made a deal Mycroft, here for a week, that’s what I told Sherlock. If _he_ feels like leaving we’ll leave. Your mum hates me anyway, I’m not missing anything and if we’re lucky Mrs. Hudson will have us for dinner on Christmas Day, she makes the best stuffing I’ve ever had.” John stood beside Sherlock and continued to glare at Mycroft, “Why are you still here?”

Mycroft seemed to have so much more to say but John was coiled tight, just waiting for the wrong word to pass his lips. Mycroft employed the intelligence that earned him his living and with a stiff nod turned on his heel and left without saying a single thing more, even if his face bore a fearsome scowl. Sherlock stood up, striding toward John who was locking the door with a firm twist of his wrist.

He threw himself at the doctor and John caught him, spinning him neatly and pinning him against the much used door yet again, not holding Sherlock up this time but grinding his hips against Sherlock’s, “Oh my god John, you incredible being!” Sherlock needed to touch John everywhere, he needed to know every single thing about John’s body so he could spend every moment of his existence doing nothing but pleasuring the most superb man in the entire universe!

It was a testament to the quality of workmanship that held their clothes together, lesser clothes would have been torn to pieces from the ferocity and speed of removal that occurred. Fabric was tossed everywhere as Sherlock and John fought to keep kissing while they divested themselves of everything that kept their skin apart. “Lay back Sherlock,” John nearly shoved Sherlock onto the bed, stuffing pillows behind his head and kissing him hotly as he straddled his hips, “I need to touch you.”

No! Sherlock wanted to touch John! He opened his mouth to protest but John began to lick and suck his way down Sherlock’s neck and the only sound that came out was a garbled choking noise as John hit one sensitive spot after another. John grabbed Sherlock wrists, thrusting them both hard above his curls, “Hold them there.” snapped the soldier and Sherlock shuddered all over again, his feet doing their best to ball up as his fingers seemed to magically lace themselves together around the edge of the pillow beneath his head.

John ghosted his mouth over Sherlock’s skin. He started near Sherlock’s jaw, his breath warm and damp. After each pass the skin that had been nearly kissed grew cool and sensitive, missing the almost caress of the doctor who moved with precise assurance as he worked his way over Sherlock’s body. The further John went the more noise Sherlock made and all the self-restraint in the world wasn’t helping him a jot.

Sherlock didn’t know that having his hipbones touched could make him almost squeak. He learned that the fine hairs on his abdomen were directly connected to his penis which was harder than ever and doing its level best to display itself for John as Sherlock panted out strange crying groans under his breath, “Turn over.” commanded John again when he’d covered every inch of Sherlock’s front. When John began to delicately learn the contours of Sherlock’s back it became impossible to stifle his whimpers and soft moans even slightly, the volume increasing as the minutes slide by but John seemed to like them, his caresses becoming less delicate, his lips making more and more contact with Sherlock’s flesh and it was so marvelous.

Sherlock felt his entire body awaken. The over-sensitivity passed and he was filled with a voluptuous and luxuriant desire for more. Boldly he pulled his knees open slightly and arched his back the tiniest bit. John was crouched over him, his breathing much heavier than it had been, his mouth so close to Sherlock’s skin that when he groaned in appreciation of the change in view Sherlock could feel it. He fancied he could smell desire, that John was somehow producing a particular fragrance that was triggering his hind-brain and causing him to become wanton, brazen.

John shifted slowly back until he was sitting on his heels, his palms gently gliding over the globes of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock loved the way it felt to be so admired, so wanted, so cared for. He didn’t want John to think he had to be cautious, not with him. Reaching behind Sherlock rubbed the palms of his hands over John’s before guiding the doctor’s fingers deliberately to his cleft, “You wicked lovely thing.” muttered John just before his head bent and his lips made contact with Sherlock’s skin all over again.

John was extremely thorough. His enjoyment of Sherlock’s behind was evident, the doctor’s moans and happy sighs plentiful as he licked and kissed, bit and toyed with every plush inch of it. Sherlock lay face down on his old bed and grinned into the pillow, ridiculously pleased that his arse made John so very happy. It felt wonderfully delicious too, John’s mouth was soft and warm, his tongue clever and wet, and the momentary sting of his teeth only whetted Sherlock’s appetite for more.

John tore a guttural groan from Sherlock when he pulled him wide open and began to explore hungrily. John wasn’t hesitant about pulling Sherlock high up on his knees so he was as open to the doctor as he could get, John’s head bent low as he began to plunder his new-found treasure. Sherlock could barely process the rush of sensations. His cock was so hard and it felt strange to have the weight of it pulling downward along with his testicles, swaying back and forth as John surged and retreated rhythmically. John’s knees were between his and if he allowed Sherlock to spread his knees again his cock would be pressed between John’s thighs.

John kept him right where he was. He was doing things. John’s tongue circled and poked, dragged and wiggled. His lips sucked kisses and helped tug at the flesh wherever it could be caught up until eventually John had managed to include every reachable part of Sherlock’s behind with the bonus of having both of his balls licked and gently sucked until Sherlock was shouting into the pillow, his hips jerking a bit as John finally released him. “I’m going to make you come Sherlock and I can’t decide how I want to make that happen. Should I suck you off? Let you come in my mouth? Maybe I’ll have you sit in my lap and stroke that lovely cock of yours until you come all over your old carpet, how would that be? Or maybe I’ll let you rub that beautiful body all over me again and watch you come on my chest. That was fucking gorgeous.”

Sherlock went rigid at the combination of thoughts that came together and demanded to be enacted instantly, “Anything you want John.”

John chose his mouth in the end, his fingers still roaming over Sherlock’s legs as he sat propped up against their pillows, his legs spread wide as John bobbed slowly between them. It was slow and torturous and Sherlock never wanted it to end. John was enjoying himself a great deal too, his enthusiasm such that a vigorous twist of his wrist timed with a groan of satisfaction on his part had Sherlock shouting and shuddering as he emptied himself inside John. The doctor didn’t move from where he was, sucking gently, his hand moving slowly as he coaxed every last shard of pleasure out of him.

Sherlock lay there panting and moaning softly. He felt blissful from head to toe, wonderfully lax and satisfied. John’s hands were suddenly firm on his hips, “Wait…just…for a minute.” John moved off the bed and Sherlock assumed he’d gone to the bathroom to wash up a bit.

Well that wasn’t very sexy. Disgruntled Sherlock moved away. Had he done something wrong? John went to their en suite bathroom and Sherlock heard him digging around. John came right back out, his erection still proudly bobbing in front of him. He was holding a hand sized bottle of something clear and his smile was toothy again. Sherlock blushed as hard as he ever had. John had lube, lots of it, “When did you get that?”

“I might have had plans,” said John with a blatant leer, “Roll over.” he said, kissing Sherlock hard.

Bemused Sherlock did as he was asked, realizing what was going to happen when John shoved a pillow beneath his hips. “Please.” he said, spreading his legs. _Yes_. He wanted this. Yes _this_ was exactly what he wanted.

John took a minute to indulge himself, licking and kissing Sherlock, keeping his cheeks spread wide to wiggle his tongue inward, humming and making almost obscene noises of pure enjoyment. Sherlock smiled lazily into the pillow, closing his eyes and allowing John to prepare him. John was efficient about it, one finger at a time gently working Sherlock’s post-orgasmic body open. He enjoyed the strangeness of it. John was lavish with his attentions, generously distributing kisses and nibbles to various reachable places, keeping Sherlock’s skin tingling with anticipation. Without the heat of passion on him it was easier to be analytical. He noted how John worked with slow care, encouraging Sherlock’s body to relax one tiny bit at a time until he was fucking Sherlock with three fingers, dribbling more lube on until Sherlock could hear the rude wet sound being made by the doctor’s repeated intrusions. Experiencing the hard slide of John’s fingers as they pushed repeatedly inside him should have felt alien and awkward but it didn’t. It was filthy and gorgeous and he loved it.

John was as affected as Sherlock. The smaller man groaned and sighed nearly as much as Sherlock, both men entirely focused on each move that was made, each bit of resistance that melted away until Sherlock was hard again and beginning to rock back. Fingers weren’t enough anymore, he needed John, “Please.” he whispered again and John understood.

Sherlock could hear lube being distributed, John’s pained huff of breath all he needed to hear to understand John was agonizingly aroused. He’d been so patient, allowing Sherlock to luxuriate in his devotions but now it was the doctor’s turn to be satisfied. Sherlock wanted that, he wanted that desperately. He wanted John to lose himself, to become as addicted to Sherlock as Sherlock was addicted to him. John leaned forward first, placing three deliberate kisses on the nape of Sherlock’s neck. Each kiss seemed to be laden with promise and of all the things John had done to him, those three kisses made Sherlock absolutely melt into the bedding, his body pliant, willing, and so very eager.

John rearranged him slowly, caressing Sherlock’s limbs as he tenderly encouraged him to rise to his hands and knees, “Arch your back up a bit.” he said softly, now using one hand to drag the head of his cock back and forth over Sherlock’s entrance. After letting Sherlock become used to him John pressed inward and said, “Bear down.”

Sherlock obeyed. He hung his head, his knees wide enough so his backside was low enough for John to reach easily. At first it was delicious and easy, the tip of John’s cock was softly nudging against him, just gently bumping and pressing. Suddenly the press became firmer and Sherlock felt his body begin to stretch to accommodate the width that didn’t seem to stop widening. Eyes open wide Sherlock grew tense as John tried to ease his way inside. John retreated instantly, caressing Sherlock slowly, almost petting him, running his hands over Sherlock’s thighs and buttocks, caressing his hips, running his warm hands up and down Sherlock’s back until he grew at ease again. Sherlock had a better idea of what to expect this time so when John asked again he bore down, breathing evenly, focusing on keeping his body from resisting.

John kept the pressure even. Sherlock was gasping as his lover entered him; it seemed to take an eternity before he didn’t feel like he was being asked to open beyond his physical limitations. John gave a shuddering heave of breath, softly cursing as he pulled back and pushed in again. The stretching feeling was still there but the initial anxiety Sherlock had experienced was gone now. He knew he was able to accept John and now he was eager to feel all of John’s considerable length inside him.

John took his time. He savored each new depth he experienced, working his cock inward in slow lazy increments, his self-control almost unimaginable as he kept Sherlock from rearing back by locking his hands on Sherlock’s hips, his small sure hands keeping Sherlock exactly where he wanted him.

Sherlock discovered what the fuss about prostates was all about. John chuckled softly, sounding satisfied as he twisted his hips, angling just right, holding Sherlock’s hips in place but allowing his upper body to thrash and arch at will. Sherlock had no control over the noises he made, his body was too overwhelmed with the hot delicious jags of pure pleasure that John Watson was so deftly providing him, “That’s it, that’s so good isn’t it? God you’re fantastic like this, I want to keep you feeling like this forever.” John’s voice was gravelly and somehow possessive, “I want you to come again.”

As if Sherlock could stop that from happening! He couldn’t bear to touch his cock and John made no move to reach for it, but then John was a quick learner and for this particular activity, John was already a grand master. Sherlock said the only word he was capable of, “Please!”

Now John wasn’t just thrusting into Sherlock, he was pulling him back rhythmically, encouraging Sherlock to meet him, their bodies beginning to meet as John gave Sherlock the last of himself. It was stunning; the pleasure of being taken so blindingly beautiful Sherlock couldn’t focus on anything more than now his hands and feet were nearly cramped with the tension of the orgasm that was building in him. As he tightened slowly around John’s cock both of them began to pant loudly, raggedly, their cries devolving into grunts.

John gave a great pull on Sherlock’s hips, settling back onto his feet and keeping Sherlock upright, his knees wide and his feet planted firmly on the bed so he was sitting on John’s lap but impaled on his cock. John was almost painfully deep now and he held Sherlock completely still for a long moment as he pulled in one long draught of air after another until he’d regained a tiny bit of control. Sherlock felt so exposed, so completely at John’s disposal. The doctor wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist, anchoring him before pulling back. John thrust upward.

Sherlock never really understood the phrase _seeing stars_ before this but he did now. Colors exploded behind his eyelids as John surged into him. One of John’s hands was running urgently over his chest, tweaking his nipples , rubbing over his belly, but carefully avoiding his cock. John kept shoving upward, hard masterful thrusts that made Sherlock nearly sob with the intensity of bliss he was feeling. It wasn’t going to be long now. The heat had built, the pressure too great now, each thrust was becoming ragged until John was incapable of maintaining his pace and he gave two sharp quick thrusts upward followed by two more. Sherlock felt John’s cock swell slightly and then there was a hot pulsing deep inside him as John bounced Sherlock lightly on his lap, working his cock in and out shallowly with little shuddering thrusts as he orgasmed with a low deep moan.

Sherlock had never heard a sound so glorious. It was almost pained, resonating with the pleasure John was feeling and it was all because of Sherlock. John was feeling _this_ because of _him_ and that knowledge was all he needed to tip over the edge. Sherlock’s torso fell backward toward John as his cock throbbed. He could feel the heat of his own semen as it dripped down, felt the way his whole body vibrated because every single molecule of him was orgasming simultaneously and he couldn’t see because his eyes had turned back into his head. If he came any harder he’d be looking at his own brain.

Sherlock eventually realized they were both hanging partially off the bed. He was sprawled in front of John whose hips were spooned up against his but whose head was off the mattress and hanging down as was Sherlock’s. “I don’t think I can move,” sighed John, “I can die right now of a broken neck and I wouldn’t care.”

Sherlock tried to grin but it took a lot some energy and he didn’t really have any, “I’ll help you up. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay.”

They lay there awkwardly for much longer than a minute. Finally Sherlock realized the room was actually rather chilly and it was cooling his well-lubed nether region rather unpleasantly. He could feel a strange sliding sensation and suddenly he was blushing furiously. John’s come was beginning to leak out a bit. John noticed, “Oh look at that.” Sherlock found himself being pulled back onto the bed so John could admire his handiwork by way of some incredibly naughty and rude but very appreciative comments. After enjoying himself John finally realized Sherlock was beginning to shiver, “Come on, into the shower we go.”

Meek as a lamb Sherlock wordlessly followed John naked into the shower. John kept it as hot as they could bear, washing Sherlock himself, and kissing him until his cheeks were pink with more than just steam. Sherlock realized he’d lost his virginity for certain now, that John had taken it, that no one else would ever have it. John seemed to realize that as well and his smile was as possessive has his voice, “There’s an item off my personal list, _deflowering Sherlock in his family’s home_.” John made the sign of a check-mark on the shower wall in water.

Sherlock blushed again but John’s eyes were merry so he bent down and kissed John, “What else is on your list?” There was no one else around but John still pulled Sherlock’s head close to whisper in his ear. Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped again and again at the ideas John had but then the good doctor was a writer and therefore very creative. Sherlock would never see his family home in quite the same light again and that seemed to be the point for John.

John started the very next morning. After helping a rather stiff Sherlock out of bed and to the bathroom John laid him back onto the still warm bedding and using some of the very expensive body lotion Mummy had Sherlock’s room stocked with rubbed him down from head to toe. After that Sherlock’s discomfort was largely removed and they finished unpacking all their things into the walk-in closet that used to annoy him but now came in very handy. Choosing day suits for both of them Sherlock helped John dress, fussily buttoning his shirt and straightening his collar. John let him bother as much as he wanted.

At breakfast John sat easily with everyone else who had remained at the estate and chatted with Tamsin who had a book with her. Nearly everyone including Mycroft sat around and sipped large cups of black coffee while they toyed with their food but John just went to the mostly untouched breakfast buffet and loaded up two large plates, getting something of everything. He deposited one plate in front of Sherlock before going back for coffee, stirring extra sugar and cream into Sherlock’s just the way he liked it. John liked cream and sugar too but he didn’t need to fill his cup only half-way with coffee to make it like Sherlock preferred his.

Mummy arrived when Sherlock was about half-way through and beginning to feel full however the disapproving look on her face was enough to encourage him to finish nearly everything, still, there was only so many re-fried potatoes one could eat in a go, not if bacon was the other option for your final bite. Sherlock ate every bite of bacon and sausage, even filching one of each from John who just absently smiled over to him and deposited a slice of ham on Sherlock’s plate for good measure before returning to his conversation with Tamsin. It seemed they’d read many of the same books and were comparing their impressions of each one. Sherlock ate the ham and then had to sit back to sip his coffee, his stomach full to bursting but the look on Mummy’s face was worth the discomfort.

After breakfast John got Sherlock to take him on a long amble around the property. When they got to the privacy of the barn John rubbed Sherlock’s sore tummy and let him relax on a bale of hay, “You know you don’t have to over-eat just to prove a point. Let her make faces, she is allowed to live her life the way she chooses, she’s going to learn you are allowed to do the same. I’m glad you’re eating more but I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Chastened Sherlock nodded, “I should probably skip lunch.” He wouldn’t need to eat for two days after this morning’s breakfast.

John smiled and kept rubbing Sherlock’s stomach until he felt better. “Maybe just some soup or something.” Sherlock nodded and let his head rest on John’s. The hay bale was surprisingly comfortable and the barn was filled with distantly familiar sounds, things Sherlock hadn’t listened to since he had been very young. There with John they listened to mice scuttling around, birds fluttering in the rafters, and drank in the dry dusty smell of the hay itself, feeling a sense of summer though it was December.

John further aided Sherlock’s recovery by kissing him slowly, fanning the flames between them with ease. Sherlock peeked out the barn doors quickly and not spying anyone obviously heading their way allowed John to pull him into a relatively discrete corner between two mountains of hay. There John and Sherlock took turns getting on their knees for one another, Sherlock needed to bite the heel of his hand to keep from shouting his bliss the entire property. John was barely quieter, his groans rough and progressively louder until Sherlock stuffed John’s tie into his mouth to stifle them. After they managed to get themselves buttoned decently up again and their hair somewhat straightened John insisted on cuddling together, Sherlock objecting for only a moment before he was in John’s arms, the hay bales once again providing a surprising comfortable perch for them to regain their composure and a bit of energy, “So there’s the barn taken care of.” John made another check mark in the air and Sherlock blushed but laughed. He was never going to get used to how bashful and delighted he always felt during these intimate moments. John was always self-assured, comfortable in his role as Sherlock’s lover but for Sherlock everything was so new he often got lost in his mind palace as he sorted away one new bit of information after another. Desecration sex was now in its own special room in the special John wing of his mind palace. Sherlock spent an enjoyable moment wondering what other types of sex rooms would eventually become part of the wing and daydreamed for a short while.

Eventually John got him moving again, kissing him softly and holding his hand. Sherlock felt happy, he’d always liked the estate itself. The grounds were rolling and tended with dedication. He wanted to show John all the places he’d found comfort in when he was growing up. There was a thin blanket of cloud darkening the sky but the blue that broke through was that much more beautiful for its rarity, as was the spill of golden light when the sun occasionally shone. The rain threatened so after a light lunch all the various cousins that had strolled everywhere gathered inside once again for an afternoon of genteel entertainments like cards and other small games.

Mummy had set everything up so that couples were desired in order to play the games so John and Sherlock played against other pairs, Mummy glaring in the background as Tamsin and Nicola paired off with various other gentlemen. It seemed that all the moneyed families had sent their unmarried children to gather with the rest of the Holmes and Sherlock was disquieted as one woman after another introduced herself boldly to John. All of them were perfectly polite to Sherlock and subtly flirtatious with John, “I feel like I’m in the modern version of Pride and Prejudice.” whispered John at one point, “I’m waiting for your mum to pull out dance cards and force us to into period clothing.”

“Wait till Christmas Eve, I’m sure she has a ball planned.” John shuddered. “You will look divine John; we are prepared for any eventuality.

“I should hope so. Our luggage weighs a metric tonne.”

“At least Mycroft is gone for now.” agreed Sherlock as he looked around. Mummy was watching them surreptitiously as she chatted three other women her age, clearly matrons of the society that seemed to be made up of nothing but fashion appreciation. Sherlock shook his head at the unrealistic outfits that were being sported by men and women alike. Most looked elegant if a bit chilled in the damp December weather. Sherlock smirked. He’d had their suits designed to withstand variations in temperature like this, silk was a marvelous material after all. He and John would be perfectly comfortable if the temperature rose or fell by several degrees, after all, they did spend a lot of their time chasing criminals, they couldn’t take a break just because the weather was disagreeable. They owned these suits, he’d see about John wearing them a tiny bit more, not a lot, just a bit. At least now when they had cases that took them into places where such clothes were necessary John would be prepared. Sherlock was realizing there was a lot to be said for John’s plain trousers and jumpers though, he would be very easy to rumple on demand. His daydreams were cruelly curtailed when someone came to stand right in front of him, Mummy.

He knew she was the one directing all the women to John, trying to tempt him into betraying Sherlock’s trust but so far John had chatted pleasantly with everyone and that was it. Apart from Tamsin toward whom John displayed no different body language than he did when he was with Molly Hooper John didn’t seek to speak to anyone except Sherlock. While it would be amusing to annoy Mummy further staying all the way until Christmas didn’t really appeal to Sherlock. Mummy was smiling but her eyes were cold, her expression looked warm and loving but her eyes were filled with fury, “Are you done flaunting this…relationship…in front of everyone?”

Sherlock and John looked up at her, their eyebrows knitting together at the same time, “Flaunting? We’re not flaunting anything Mummy. We’ve been enjoying some quiet relaxing time with the cousins.”

“Kissing and holding hands and getting up to who knows what right where anyone can see you! Have you no shame?” Mummy’s face didn’t change at all but her whispered hiss had a touch of venom in it, “You’ve spent the entire day deliberately embarrassing me. Half the women here came to meet you and look…look what you’ve done…you wretched child.”

Nicola was laughing and smiling up at a young man with dark hair who seemed delighted with her attention. Tamsin was in deep conversation with a thin reedy cousin with glasses so thick his eyes seemed nothing but iris. She seemed very engaged in whatever they were talking about, their fingers jabbing the air emphatically as they pointed around while making their arguments. Sherlock looked back at his mother, “We have done nothing. If you are embarrassed because of my relationship with John then we will leave. I would not trouble you unduly. If you are embarrassed that I did not instantly cleave to the ladies I was presented to then I apologize but I did tell you that nothing would happen. If you are here to insult my career again then I would ask that you abstain for both our peace of mind.”

Mummy fumed for a moment then hissed, “I had a chance to be on the board of directors for a very outré committee. Thanks to your behaviour my chances have completely vanished. If you had even pretended interest in one of the young ladies it would have solidified my chances but you couldn’t even give me that could you."

John was scowling now and he stood straight, every inch of him rigid, his voice gentle and soft the way it was right before the storm broke. “You’re _pissy_ because you didn’t get to play with a bunch of other soulless fuck-heads due to the fact that your son found love instead of _breeding partner_? You actually have the _balls_ to come over here and say shit like that to our faces, _to his face_? What kind of person are you? Your son died! I didn’t see you at Sherlock’s funeral but I was there, and so was our landlady, the grocer down the street, and about a thousand other people who barely knew him but still cared enough to pay their respects. _Where the fuck were you_? Off attending the latest symposium on the usage of polka dots? Sherlock has been in hospital so many times I’ve lost track. I’ve been with him, staying by his side, looking after him, protecting him from everything I can protect him from so he can keep doing what he does. You? Never once did you bother to find out if he was alright. You can’t even bring yourself to admit that he’s good at what he does, that he’s made some difficult changes in his life, and that he’s overcome things that might have permanently ruined someone else.

Mummy was completely outraged, “I was too distraught to be seen in public. How could I go to London like that? What kind of person would demand that from a bereaved mother?”

“ _He was your son_!” growled John. “The fucking Queen of god-damned fucking England sent me a condolence card! _The Queen_! The Prime Minister came to his funeral! _Mycroft_ was there and he was in the middle of two different wars but because it was his brother he came. You didn’t even bother trying to sort out Sherlock’s things! I kept them all, me and Mrs. Hudson! We’re the ones who have loved Sherlock all these years. I don’t know what you’ve been up to Mrs. Violet Holmes but being a mother wasn’t it. When he came back how often did you check on him? Never? _I know_ it’s never because _I_ stayed with him, I was by his side for weeks while he recovered. You never called, texted, sent a card, asked after him through Mycroft, attempted to contact him in any sort of way. You could have easily arranged for some fucking flowers to be delivered but you didn’t did you. No, you made _him_ come to see _you_ in fucking Paris when he was barely healed enough to travel safely and you didn’t even….” John stopped. He was nearly shouting now and every single person in the great room could hear his every word. Mummy was frozen to the spot, “I’ve been Sherlock’s best friend for five years now. In five years I’ve never met you. I’ve never once spoken to you on the phone or received a piece of correspondence from you for Sherlock. Now here we are, his first Christmas back and we’re here. What have you done? Criticized his looks. Complained about his romantic life. Tried to _blackmail_ him into impregnating women you deliberately vetted to be the mothers of your grandchildren. You don’t even know that both your sons are gay and Mycroft is nearly fifty now. At what point did you begin ignoring your children? Did you ever pay attention to who they were or have they always been merely props to your vanity?” John looked around the room angrily, “Whichever of you uptight fucks is on this committee that Violet is willing to sabotage her son for give her the fucking job. Clearly she’s invested her entire existence in getting it, she’ll work hard.”

Sherlock came up beside John and gently took his hand. Kissing his soldier on the cheek Sherlock put his other arm around John’s shoulder, “Come on John, time to go home.” they were done there. Mummy would never change and there was no point wasting time, “Back to London.”

John relaxed completely, smiling up at Sherlock, his eyes warm and filled with contentment. Sherlock was amazed once again at how easily John could store his anger away. He didn’t need to be angry any longer so he simply wasn’t, “Alright Sherlock. We’ll call Greg tomorrow, see if he still needs a hand.”

“Very well.” agreed Sherlock. He felt taller for some reason; like John had lifted him up and now he was floating above everyone around them. Tamsin was looking at both of them thoughtfully, her companion blinking owlishly toward the noise but clearly not able to see exactly what was going on. John waved goodbye to her and with a tiny uncertain frown she waved back.

It took only half an hour to repack everything, just enough time for their car to arrive from wherever the driver had been waiting for them. John didn’t really like the porters hauling everything out but they could hardly be stopped. With a sigh they climbed in while everything was loaded into the boot. Mummy didn’t see them off, no one was in sight as they left. Sherlock couldn’t help but be uplifted the second they were underway. The visit with Mummy was over and now he got to go back to London with John. He was going to have to think of something very special to thank his soldier for everything he’d said and done, something very special indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop - London and Christmas


	8. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has stepped up in his new role as Sherlock's partner, freeing the detective from the ghosts of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit to bad planning when it came to the timing of this fic. I arrogantly presumed that I could handle the normal holiday chaos and write at the same time. Obviously that wasn't the case but here it is, my tardy but hopefully still appreciated chapter.

The trip back was fun. John wanted to stop all over the place, shopping for this and that as they made their leisurely way home. The small man was very indulgent, allowing Sherlock to pick and choose at will whenever something caught Sherlock’s eye so by the time they got back to Baker Street their luggage included a periodic table patterned cutting board, a stress ball that looked like a tiny human brain, a TARDIS mug for John that was printed with a tiny inscription on the bottom that said 8 ounces but actually held 12, a medium-sized terrarium made of a glass sea buoy because while both of them liked the idea of having a house-plant neither of them actually wanted to look after one, and a large box of assorted sample containers for Sherlock to use to do his experiments with instead of using their mugs and soup-bowls. They picked up a small bag of expensive coffee just to try it, some fresh baked goodies from a table being personed by a group of very young adults who were fundraising, and since they had a car and driver John and Sherlock also stopped at Tesco’s just before they got home and did their grocery shopping. They’d need to get more things for their holiday meal but that could wait until they talked to their landlady. If Mrs. Hudson was remaining in London and they could have a holiday meal with her.

She was thrilled to see them and sent Sherlock up to their flat with the groceries while John helped her bring down her roasting pan so they could figure out how big of a turkey they should buy while she pulled out her favorite cookbooks to plan their feast. They still had a couple of days to work out details. Sherlock came back just as Mrs. Hudson served tea and some of the treats they’d picked up, “So tell me all about your visit. How was your mother?” inquired Mrs. Hudson cheerily.

“John physically threatened Mycroft and then dressed Mummy down right in front of everyone. It was the best present I could have ever gotten. After that there was simply nothing to top the experience so we came home.” John rolled his eyes and nudged Sherlock for his description while Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth in shock, “Mycroft got off easy and Mummy…”

John cut him off brusquely, “ _Won’t_ be seeing either of us for some time,” John rubbed his hand over the back of Sherlock’s as he spoke firmly. He looked up at Sherlock, “Unless you want to, she’s your mum. I don’t know how you feel about everything that happened but whatever you want to do we’ll do.” John left it there for Sherlock to think about and Sherlock nodded. He would but not now, later.

Mrs. Hudson got up and patted John’s good shoulder affectionately, “There you go dear, your John is always looking after you, I’d expect no different.” Sherlock flushed behind Mrs. Hudson’s back because he realized she was right. John had always looked after him and had since the day they moved in together. With baking to accomplish Mrs. Hudson dispatched John to the store again to get some of the fiddlier ingredients while Sherlock down went to the basement suite to haul up a smattering of decorations, “Just to brighten the place a bit.” she said with a smile.

221 B Baker Street was such a different place than the Holmes estate and Sherlock felt it deeply as he carefully hung Mrs. Hudson’s treasured collection of oversized baubles and elaborate garlands, many of them a little tarnished by the years but all the more beautiful for it. By the time John returned Sherlock had finished the foyer and was making his way to their flat. After helping Mrs. Hudson for a few minutes more John returned to help Sherlock finish up. There wasn’t much so it only took a few minutes so as soon as John’s hands were empty Sherlock pulled him into his arms and kissed him, “Welcome home John.”

John smiled up at Sherlock, his eyes merry and twinkling, “We’ve got two days till Christmas. What do you want to do?”

What Sherlock wanted to do was drag John into his bedroom and not leave ever again but what they ended up doing was answering Lestrade’s urgent text only a few minutes into their already rather heated snog. It was a testament again to how well suited they were when both men struggled to decide, after all, John liked a good case as much as Sherlock did, and he’d been rather feisty lately, perhaps a bit of a knock-down would happen and allow the soldier to get rid of some aggression. They told Mrs. Hudson they were off, grabbed a taxi, and soon were striding down a dark damp alley to meet Lestrade and the team. It was fantastic.

The holidays always brought out the worst in people as the crime in front of them blatantly demonstrated. Donovan stood there watching Anderson processing the scene until Sherlock blazed in. She calmly called her co-worker back and silenced his protests, “You do this every time, look _Lestrade_ called him in. Just let him do whatever it is that he does and then he’ll go.”

Anderson grumbled and glared but faced with John’s stern expression his mutters died down even if they didn’t cease completely. Sherlock was delighted. The past several weeks had shown him how respected John was among the Yard and that respect was tinged with a bit of fear. Sherlock had no issue with that. His John _was_ very dangerous and for once the Yarders were demonstrating good sense. He felt pleased as he was able to focus on the details in front of him instead of fending off rude remarks and not-so-sly insults. Of course Donovan had done her bit to keep Anderson in line but she couldn’t do anything about officers in other divisions or even many of the ones who worked with Lestrade. With John present though, Sherlock didn’t have to pay attention to a single one of them.

Since Anderson had been involved Sherlock worked extra fast just to annoy him. It was almost frustrating to discover an actual business card stuffed bloodily in the deceased’s pocket, hidden in a small tear of a seam so it lay against the liner, obvious to Sherlock’s sensitive fingers. Sherlock sighed and got John to extract it with tweezers, “You’re kidding. It was right in his pocket?”

“Business rivals. Christmas is a stressful time.” in short order they were chasing through a series of deserted offices after a man who had killed someone for winning a sales rep competition. Tracking someone through the holiday chaos was problematic. Getting around the city was painfully slow, even with Sherlock’s vast knowledge of shortcuts. The man had been on the way to the airport, hastily fleeing London, blood still on his fine shoes from the bludgeoning that had ended his rival’s life. It took hours of threading back and forth in frustration to make their way after him as one lead after another failed to pan out. They received their final tip right after midnight. Sherlock conceded that going with Lestrade in the panda with its flashing lights was at least expeditious as they made their way to their target’s location.

It was Sherlock’s homeless network that had done the winning stretch of legwork in the end, the endless panhandlers and pickpockets that frequented opportunistic locations like the airports had spotted the man after Sherlock had triggered something akin to a phone tree, one person telling another until the man in questions face was known to far more people than any alert the police could have instigated. After the arrest John went to a food kiosk and ordered a dozen take-away meals, Sherlock distributing them discretely to his informants who melted away as soon as they received the pound notes he’d included with John’s meals. It wasn’t much but the detectives did what they could.

Anderson looked sourly at the last retreating back, “You know most of those people actually _have_ homes. They’re just swindlers.”

Sherlock looked down at Anderson, unsurprised by his idiocy. John had finished paying and was now standing beside Sherlock and looking at the forensic specialist with something akin to distaste, “These ones don’t and even if they did they still helped us. You know, sometimes people are exactly what they seem to be.” his voice was mild but Sherlock knew his lover was extremely unimpressed. John was a natural born care-giver, he found great satisfaction in helping others, he didn’t feel right unless he’d done all he could to ease someone’s way and even then John often fretted that he hadn’t done enough, “At least these ones will have something in their  bellies to keep them warm tonight as they sleep rough. These ones don’t have a bed to call their own, not like you. Tell me Anderson, whose bed are you keeping warm tonight?” John looked Anderson squarely in the eye, just waiting for the man to take offense and push John a little further.

“We broke up.” said Donovan, yanking Anderson by the shoulder and pushing him toward the exits, “Happy Holiday you two.” She kept nudging Anderson’s shoulder the entire way when clearly he wanted to turn back and continue with John. She didn’t look back but herded her co-worker away to someplace safe.

Lestrade looked at his subordinates and then over to John and Sherlock, “I thought you two were supposed to be at your big _family_ dinner, not that I’m not glad you helped tonight, don’t think me ungrateful, but why are you back?” his weary voice was hard and Sherlock could hear a thread of bitterness sneak out.

“My brother is in London; surely he’s explained the situation?” Sherlock wasn’t going to pretend John hadn’t told everyone obliquely that Lestrade and Mycroft were involved, a fact that was confirmed by the angry knitting of the DI’s brow.

“He’s in London?” _Interesting_ , Mycroft hadn’t let his paramour know he was back and the DI wasn’t denying that there was a connection there. Lestrade’s back straightened and the bitterness was now in his eyes as well as his voice, “Well I’ll let you get on with your holiday then. I’ll text if there’s anything interesting.”

“You don’t want an answer to your question?” asked Sherlock slyly. Lestrade was angry and Mycroft was an idiot but one of those things could be fixed.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, “What happened at your mum’s?” he asked with resignation.

“My mother wishes for grandchildren. She has filled her home with eligible women in the hopes that I would latch on to one of them and begin fertilizing her on the instant. However John and I had already finally sorted ourselves out and when Mummy realized I would not be of use to her I am positive she went to Mycroft and similarly demanded that he take responsibility for continuing the family line. He’s very duty-oriented and would be susceptible to her arguments. He is also rich and powerful, exactly the sort of man a woman like our mother heartily approves of, as do the mothers of so many of Mummy’s guests.”

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and blinked one time as he added all the clues together, “He’s hiding.”

“He’s hiding. Check the Diogenes Club.”

The DI looked at John questioningly, not thrown off the scent at all, “You two are dating?” Didn’t Lestrade have better things to do now? Hadn’t Sherlock just given him Mycroft on a silver platter? People were ungrateful, that’s what they were. He frowned at the DI.

“Can’t be a surprise.” said John and the DI shrugged, “You and Mycroft though?”

“So?”

“Well, he’s a bit…” began John but Lestrade cut him off.

“Whatever you think Myc is _a bit_ _of_ you know damn well Sherlock is _a lot of_ so thanks John but I can handle my own situation.” Lestrade looked grimly at Sherlock, “You know he’s done a lot to help the two of you idiots get on don’t you? He tried to get your Mum to stop sending you messages, I guess they were all those pictures John posted. He’s trying to be a good brother and it isn’t easy because you’re a little shit and no one ever showed Myc how to be decent.”

“He didn’t invite you to come with him.” stated Sherlock flatly ignoring the insults to his person. How long had Mycroft been conducting this affair with Lestrade? Sherlock could understand missing the clues, he deliberately ignored the information he read off of his brother because most of it was nauseating, and he did the same for Lestrade but more out of a carefully grown sense of respect he had for the man.

“Yeah well I’m not _family_ am I.” said Lestrade darkly, the bitterness in his voice clear now as he left abruptly.

Sherlock watched him leave and felt grim. He looked down at John, “I hope you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into by being openly involved with me. My brother and I are not good men. We do terrible things for selfish reasons. Most of the time we don’t understand why what we do hurts others but even if we did chances are we’d do them anyway.”

“They’ve been carrying on for about a year now.” mused John out loud as they finally left the airport and climbed into a taxi, “That’s about when Greg stopped telling me stories about his dates and I noticed Mycroft was stopping by our crime scenes a little more than normal. Greg wasn’t complaining and he distracted Mycroft from you so I didn’t say anything.”

Clever John! Sherlock was proud of the fact that John had managed to clue into something that had escaped him entirely. He was the perfect partner! Between the two of them they could see and observe practically anything. “He should have brought him to the family dinner then.”

“He still might.” said John who was looking out the window and enjoying the holiday decorations that were all over the city. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, the big dinner isn’t until later in the afternoon, still plenty of time for Mycroft to pull his head out of his arse and take Greg to meet your mum. She should be thrilled. Greg’s been divorced three times.”

Sherlock realized something and it made his heart absolutely sink. He blurted it out. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.” he said in absolute horror. Their very first Christmas was ruined and it hadn’t even happened yet!

“You’ve been giving me expensive presents for months now. If you give me one more thing I’m going to die of shame.” said John tartly, “I’ve already gotten more this year than I ever have in my entire life but the only thing I wanted was you, and I got that as well. I don’t need anything else.”

The cab driver was smiling, darting glances back at them in the rear view mirror as John made his statement firmly. Sherlock closed his mouth before he blurted out the one last thing he hadn’t told John. It wasn’t exactly a gift though and it had nothing to do with the visit to Mummy’s so Sherlock decided to tell John at a more appropriate time. The early morning hours were nearly gone and John was exhausted. By the time they pulled up to 221 B Baker Street John was dozing, moving sluggishly after Sherlock who paid for the cab and opened the door for John.

He made John wash himself up before putting him to bed nude, “Sleep.” he murmured, smoothing John’s short hair back. The soldier was fully asleep in no time. Sherlock pulled on his Belstaff and warm boots; he stole John’s hat and scarf and pulled on his mittens. The hour was ungodly but Sherlock knew where to find things he needed regardless of the time of day. He looked at the closed door of his bedroom and thought of the sandy haired man who slept behind it, his heart growing full and warm. John said not one more thing but perhaps he wouldn’t mind terribly.

Hours went by before he was able to trudge back home, his task accomplished. Mrs. Hudson was up and she had a strange look on her face when he asked if he could leave a small parcel in the basement suite, “You look like you need to get your head down, I’m just popping down there anyway, I’ll hide it for you.” Mrs. Hudson was amazing at hiding things so Sherlock gratefully handed over a small bag. “I’ll leave you two something to reheat for after you wake up.”

Sherlock washed up and climbed wearily into bed with John who snuggled over and kept snoring. Sherlock felt satisfied with everything and gratefully fell asleep, tired to his bones with everything. He felt John get up some time later, the doctor pulling the duvet up and tucking Sherlock firmly in before he left the room. Sherlock smiled a little in his sleep and dreamed of John. When he woke up he could smell something sweet. Pulling on his robe he went out front to find John and Mrs. Hudson rolling something out on the kitchen table which was cleared of everything except a massive sheet of pastry, “Good-morning!” said John cheerily. He had a smear of flour near his ear.

Sherlock smiled over at Mrs. Hudson but went directly to John to receive a good-morning kiss despite the fact they had an audience. John gave him two, “What are you making?”

“Strudel, we’ve never done it before but it looks a lot like the one on the online video.” Mrs. Hudson and John spent too much time watching how-to videos online. Sherlock’s laptop was on the kitchen counter and paused at their current step in the process. Still, Sherlock wasn’t one to prevent people from learning new things and cookery meant he would have something to eat made by his beloved’s hands and that wasn’t a terrible thing at all. John looked down to the sheet, “I had no idea so much work went into all those little treats.”

Sherlock made sandwiches out of the cold roast Mrs. Hudson had brought up and ate on the sidelines as he observed John and Mrs. Hudson work together. They were full of giggles as they made mistakes and tried to fix them, undaunted by their lack of experience. Together they managed the filling, the wrapping and rolling of the large pastry package before they wrestled it onto a waiting pan and got it ready to bake. It ended up being rather heavy so Sherlock put it in the oven for them despite John’s protests that his shoulder was perfectly fine. Of course John was strong enough to put a sheet of baking in the oven, he was being silly. Sherlock just wanted to contribute, even a little bit. He’d never participated in the preparation of a holiday meal.

The strudel was just coming out when Mycroft came by. He looked at John grimly before nearly glaring at Sherlock, “Mummy has asked that you attend dinner tomorrow night with John. You needn’t stay the night; I can arrange a driver to return you here afterward.”

Sherlock frowned at his brother, “Why in the world would I want to go have dinner with her? We’re having dinner with Mrs. Hudson. We’re not going.”

Mrs. Hudson surprised all of them by setting down her teacup sharply enough to rattle it in her saucer, “Sherlock, your mother has asked you to go to Christmas dinner. You are going. We can have our meal the day after.” Her expression was iron and Sherlock was taken aback, “You have only one mother in the world, good or bad, you will go.”

Sherlock looked at her, “She isn’t a good person.”

Mrs. Hudson softened, reaching over a frail hand and patting his encouragingly, “But you _are_ and so is John. Go, see your mother, share a meal and come back. Be the bigger person.”

How could he argue with Mrs. Hudson? Even John looked resigned. They were going. “Fine but we’re arriving as late as possible and leaving as soon as we can.”

“Dinner is at six, I’m sure you can withstand a few hours in company.” said Mycroft coolly.

John looked up at him, “Bringing anyone?”

A muscle in Mycroft’s jaw jumped. “No.”

“ _Really_?” said John in mock surprise, “There’s no one _special_ you’d like to introduce to your mum, you know, maybe someone who might be _a little pissed off_ at being treated like a bit of rough on the side?” John’s voice was hard now as was his stare.

The muscle in Mycroft’s jaw jumped again and Sherlock saw a fleeting moment of distress in his brother’s eye, “I will send a car to pick you up tomorrow afternoon. Good evening.” With that Mycroft turned on his heel and left. Sherlock didn’t fail to notice that his brother was gripping his umbrella so hard that his knuckles were white.

Mrs. Hudson startled them by clapping her hands merrily, “Now John can give her the _gift_! Oh this is marvelous. Are you going to exchange presents there or wait until you’re home?”

John looked over, “Sherlock’s already given me my presents, I guess I can give him his while we’re there.” John was smiling, his eyes soft, “I’d love to see you mum’s face.” His grin was boyish and made his eyes bright.

Sherlock bit his lip for a second as a surge of love almost overwhelmed him. His lover had a present for him and it was something Mummy wouldn’t like. He wondered if he should give his gift to John there or wait. He’d take it with him and if it felt right he’d give it to John. If not, well, it wasn’t so very difficult to wait until they were home, someplace they were joyful. Sherlock decided. If John was willing then they could do this, especially if it made Mrs. Hudson happy and it did. “Very well John.”

That night John made love to him all over again and it was slow, sweet. He took Sherlock to pieces one gentle kiss at a time until Sherlock was a shivering mess. John’s moans were like music as they rutted together, the feel of John’s cock riding over his was indescribably luscious feeling. There was a sharp marvelous feeling near his heart that kept Sherlock clinging to his lover until John had to hold Sherlock down to keep him from thrashing too hard when he came, John’s mouth swallowing his ecstatic moans greedily before finally sating himself on Sherlock’s limp body. Sherlock tingled from head to toe, his entire body well-kissed and stroked, every inch of him lavished with John’s endless attentions.

John seemed to delight in the after-care nearly as much as he did in foreplay. He fetched warm damp flannels and spoiled Sherlock by giving him what amounted to a sponge bath in bed, teasing Sherlock by washing his genitals and behind with exaggerated care and then kissing everywhere thoroughly before covering Sherlock with the duvet. After John cleaned himself up he joined Sherlock in bed once more, getting Sherlock to settle in his arms, his hand drifting delicately up and down Sherlock’s back and eased Sherlock into a deep and dreamless sleep.

They had a lovely breakfast with Mrs. Hudson who was entirely on-board with John’s idea of making Sherlock eat on a regular basis. “You’re ever so thin. I used to worry a good breeze would blow you away.” she chided, sliding an extra pancake onto his plate and distracting John with coffee so Sherlock could pour an unseemly amount of syrup on it before John could protest. Despite _her_ protests John washed the dishes, affording Mrs. Hudson an opportunity to smuggle Sherlock the small package he’d asked her to hide, “I thought you might want to bring this with you.” Bless Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smiled gratefully and tucked it into his pocket carefully.

They took her out for a short walk to enjoy various entertainments in the park and then out to lunch at quirky café that for some reason sported any number of animal statues. Sherlock made John and Mrs. Hudson giggle together as he made up blatant untruths about each of them, equipping each one with a wildly implausible history until John could hardly breathe and they were all getting strange looks from the other patrons. They made their way back to Baker Street where they got ready for their evening by sharing a warm and loving shower, their ardour somewhat dampened by their plans. Sherlock dressed to match John and he felt they both looked rather striking in their black suits and white shirts. John was wearing his most garish socks though choosing the brightest pair had taken some debate.

Sherlock produced two loud Christmas ties. John’s was dark blue and featured a heavy flurry of snowflakes. Sherlock’s tie was red and was dotted with little green Christmas trees with sequins for ornaments. John laughed and helped Sherlock knot his, “This is a great touch.” John admired himself in the mirror and Sherlock came up behind John to carefully wrap his arms around him, “You look gorgeous.”

Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head and smoothed his hands down John’s arms until he could take John’s in his, “You are the one who will take people’s breath away.” John looked dashing, the dark colors of his clothes bringing out the brightness of his hair and the sky in his eyes. Sherlock knew what he said was so because he could hardly look at John now without his breath catching in his throat and feeling that sharp sweet sensation near his heart growing deeper. John grabbed the gift bag that was waiting after letting Sherlock help him on with his coat. John also suffered Sherlock wrapping a scarf around his neck but since it was accompanied by was soft kiss he didn’t protest. Checking their pockets contained everything they needed they left their flat, said farewell to Mrs. Hudson who was now sharing an evening of cards and wine with Mrs. Turner, and went to climb into the car that arrived just as they opened the door to the street.

They wished the trip would take forever but it didn’t, the distance eaten away far too quickly as they pulled up to the lavishly lit entrance. There were liveried staff waiting again, opening their door and pausing only for a second before accepting that John and Sherlock had no luggage beyond the small bag that John would not let go of.

The dining room was already full, most people beginning to be seated. Mummy was at the head of the table looking resplendent in a dark green gown that gleamed richly as the thousands of tiny lights covering the walls illuminated everything with a soft warm glow. “Well look at that.” said John under his breath. Sherlock looked and saw.

Mycroft was standing off to the side speaking to a small group of cousins and by his side was Lestrade. Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the man. He was dressed in a suit far above his pay grade, his cufflinks from a well-known and in demand jeweller. He stood tall beside Mycroft and had a hard look for anyone who demonstrated any impertinence. Sherlock laughed a bit to himself. Everyone would know that Lestrade wasn’t impressed with class or entitlement and that he represented a power outside their control. He was the law, and they didn’t lash out spitefully the way they clearly wanted to. Mummy’s eyes were like ice as she subtly glared back and forth between her sons. John took Sherlock’s hand and made straight for her, “Hi Violet,” he said cheerily, “Merry Christmas.” and right in front of everyone John thrust out his present.

Mummy reluctantly took it, “Welcome to my home Doctor Watson. Thank you for the courtesy of both your company and your gift.”

“Oh, no need to be all formal like that! Call me John. Go on, open it.” his smiled was disarmingly sweet and open, his eyes guileless and warm.

“You shouldn’t have.” replied Mummy, her voice sweet and charmed but her eyes were like diamonds.

“Nonsense.” sniffed John, “Go on.” his smile was still very warm and Mummy had no choice. They’d gathered a small crowd of onlookers, all discretely seating themselves to watch, so with a gracious smile Mummy pulled open the bag and extracted the tissue paper that covered the top. People oohed when she pulled out a small glass object. There was a small string tied artfully to the top and it was clearly an ornament with a figure inside. Mummy extracted several more, all of them safely enmeshed in protective webbing until they were displayed on the table. The baubles were all perfectly clear, the beautiful figures inside exquisitely detailed, and entirely hollow. “They’re not just for Christmas,” explained John, “You can display these year round.”

Mummy stared at them. “These are from the NP Gallery.” she seemed stunned, “He doesn’t sell entire collections.”

John just smiled, “No, not normally but Sherlock knew him from a case we did ages ago, he still owed us a favor so he let me pick up the entire set.” The artist had been more than happy to do Sherlock a favor, the lifetime imprisonment the detective had averted had been more than compensation enough for what he said amounted to no more than a bucket of sand and a lungful of air. “He’s a lovely chap. Sherlock knows all sorts of people.”

Mummy was beginning to get a glimmer of the unusual power and access her disgraced youngest son enjoyed and the hardness in her eyes began to fade as understanding finally sank in. John had given her empty tokens, wonderfully valuable and coveted, but empty. The table was nearly full now as everyone sought their seats, eager eyes on John and Violet. Clearly everyone was hoping for another verbal blow-out, “I’m sure your gift to my son was equally meaningful.”

“Haven’t given it to him yet but I can.” Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped. Everyone was looking at him, especially Mycroft and Lestrade who had taken their seats directly across from them. John reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a long heavy envelope. John’s eyes were soft and warm, “I hope you like it Sherlock.” he said, his voice almost shy as he proffered the small packet to him.

Sherlock received it almost numbly. He hadn’t expected John to just give him a present right in front of everyone. He thumbed the tab open carefully. Inside were a thick sheaf of glossy brochures, “What is it?”

“Well look!” said John with fond exasperation.

Sherlock pulled them out. When he read the covers his eyes widened and he had to clamp his teeth together to keep from crying out in shock. “Both of them?”

“Of course. They’re hidden in the basement suite at Baker Street.” John’s grin was proud. No wonder Mrs. Hudson hadn't wanted him to go downstairs, “So? Do you like it?”

Sherlock had to drop the brochures so he could throw his arms around John, “I love you.” he snuffled into John’s neck. He hadn’t said the words out loud all this time but he meant them, he truly meant them.

John’s eyes were dark and filled with mystery, his smile only for Sherlock, “I know you do.” he said and Sherlock understood that John really did know he loved him. It wasn’t the potion, it couldn’t be. This feeling in his heart was nothing like that passionate and mindless rush that had temporarily over-taken them. This was something more enduring, something that would last for as long as they did and longer if they were lucky. Those four words meant more to Sherlock than anything else John could have said.

“For heaven’s sake what did you get? A four star vacation in the south of France?” rudely Mummy picked up the sheaf that Sherlock had dropped by his plate, “What is this. A centrifuge? An incubator? This is medical equipment.”

“Laboratory equipment.” said Sherlock, his voice thick and filled with emotion. “Thank you John…thank you.” words were so inadequate. How had John done this? Sherlock realized then that all the long hours the doctor had put in during the autumn had been for this, and not some secret lover. _Oh John_!

“Expensive laboratory equipment.” added Mycroft, picking up the brochures that Mummy had deliberately thrown to the side. Mycroft tidied the stack, looking over the brands momentarily before reaching across the table to set them back in front of his little brother, “The doctor knows Sherlock well. This equipment will help Sherlock become even more independent in his research, research that has given him the knowledge to have the career that he has.”

“He’s a damn fine detective, the best I’ve ever seen.” said Lestrade sharply, glancing at Mummy. Clearly she hadn’t given him any warmer a welcome than she’d given John but he cared even less than the soldier did. He stood proudly by Mycroft’s shoulder and Sherlock didn’t miss how Mycroft’s entire body seemed to be centered toward the silver-haired man by his side. How had he missed seeing this? It was so obvious now. “Your son has saved more lives than my entire division put together. The work he and John do together is beyond price, you can’t pay for that kind of combined talent.”

The first course arrived and Mummy graciously indicated that the meal had begun and their conversation over. Like before she grew aggrieved with each bite too many that she felt Sherlock was taking but unlike before it didn’t trouble him. He ate what he liked, gave John everything he didn’t like, stole more of what he enjoyed off of John’s plate and stopped eating when he was full. John just smiled tolerantly and let Sherlock do whatever he wished as long as he didn’t make a mess.

Mycroft and Greg ate genteelly side by side. It was even more obvious that they were well accustomed to one another. It spoke of a longer deeper relationship that just a convenient shag between powerful men. Suddenly Mycroft’s eyes flickered up and for a long moment both brothers simply looked at one another and they understood. Mycroft sat back the tiniest bit and casually brushed across his left pocket. Sherlock’s mouth twitched a bit but he kept his motions natural as he reached for a napkin, his fingers trailing across his right jacket pocket. Mycroft’s eyes widened a touch but he nodded faintly as he leaned closer to the DI to catch a comment the shorter man was making. The meal progressed in relative peace, the pudding dramatically presented as a flood of servers rushed in to deposit an elegant bowl of something tiny but flavorful in front of each guest. When the last plate had been cleared and everyone was sipping on tall glasses of chilled wine Mycroft stood and called for attention, “I would like to have everyone’s attention please.” Silence eventually fell over the gathering and Mycroft looked over his relatives, “Thank you. I have a very important question to ask and I would request that you all stand witness to the answer.” the silence deepened and Sherlock caught his breath. Mycroft really was wasting no time, “In my life I have met very few exceptional people but when I have been lucky enough to cross paths with someone extraordinary I count myself fortunate and make every attempt to make a connection. Two years ago I was able to forge a connection with someone who has altered everything I had considered to be a permanent part of who I was and because of this effort I feel I am a better person than I might ever have been on my own. With this in mind I would like to make this individual the sincerest and most-heartfelt offer of my life. Gregory Lestrade, here in front of my kith and kin I would ask for your hand in marriage. I would willingly cleave myself to as remarkable person as yourself for the rest of my days and feel the luckiest of men.”

Greg sat there looking up seriously at Mycroft, his eyes not the least bit soft or loving, “You know how I feel about this.”

“I do.”

“You know what I’ve said about this.”

“I do.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely sure.”

Greg sat there for a long silent minute while everyone at the table held their collective breaths. “You’re a damnable maddening bastard Mycroft Holmes.”

“I know Gregory.”

“You agree to everything then?” an agreement? Sherlock’s ears pricked and he looked sharply at his brother who looked pale but determined.

Mycroft nodded sharply, “Everything, without equivocation.”

Greg sat there for a moment longer before nodding his head sharply a single time. Mycroft nearly sagged where he stood, the relief on his face evident. He reached into his left pocket and extracted a subdued black box. His hands were steady as he extracted a heavy silver ring, pushing it onto Lestrade’s left ring finger, “Gregory.” Their fingers tightened together but there was no other display of affection between them. Polite and mildly stunned applause broke out along the table.

“Wow. That really trumps my gift.” said John, both disgruntled and pleased. “I worked for weeks to arrange that.”

“Would you like me to steal your thunder back?” asked Sherlock diffidently.

“Go for it. I don’t know what you’re going to be able to do though.” John was smiling up at Sherlock who smiled back before pushing his seat away from the table and standing. Mycroft called for silence again as the warm smile dropped off of John’s face to be replaced by shock.

Sherlock looked down at the sandy-haired man in front of him and knew this was the right moment. He heard Mummy’s horrified gasp but ignored her, “John, I have no gift to give you that could ever match even slightly the gifts you give me every single day simply by being my friend. With you I have learned a better way; I have come to know happiness, comradery, and security. You and I have always been well matched; our friendship has withstood trials and tribulations in quantity and has remained firm. You are my dearest companion, my most reliable resource; the one person in the whole world who can tolerate being with me for more than an hour, indeed your bravery has spawned legends.” Greg laughed and Sherlock threw him a grin. The shock on John’s face increased when unlike Mycroft Sherlock sank to one knee. This was John, and this question was a plea, a hope, a dream. Sherlock couldn’t stand over John and ask him this, “John, for all my life I have made one terrible mistake after another until my life was so dark I could see nothing. The day we met is the day the light came back and rather selfishly, as we all know I am, I would ask that you spend the rest of your life shining for me and me alone. John Hamish Watson, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my husband?”

John sat there for a moment, the look of pure astonishment on his face wiping away all other expression. He said nothing and Sherlock knew the entire table was holding their breath with him. Finally John blinked and looked irritated, “You told everyone my middle name!” Sherlock had to laugh. Of all the ridiculous answers John could have given this was the perfect one. With no hesitation John hauled Sherlock up by his lapels and kissed him soundly, “Yes you mad bastard, it’s always going to be yes.” With a huge smile he couldn’t contain Sherlock pulled a small box from his pocket. It was made of wood, an elaborate circlet carved into the lid with the letter J in the center. Inside was a plain silver band, a curious notch cut into the side that made a shallow V run across the surface. Sherlock pulled it out and taking a deep breath he pushed it slowly onto John’s finger. John looked at it for a long moment before looking up to Sherlock, “I wish I had one to give you in return.”

“I planned for that.” with a small smile Sherlock flipped up the hidden bottom in the small box. Inside lay a second ring, this one with two curved scores across the top. John looked at it curiously for a moment before taking it out. He gripped Sherlock’s hand hard for a moment before slipping the ring on. It sat cool against his skin, warming in only moments, the heaviness of it reassuring. “Look John.” Sherlock adjusted both their rings. The grooves matched up and between the two of them a single shape of a heart formed. “You were always my missing piece.” John hugged him hard then, simply throwing his arms around Sherlock and squeezing him until Sherlock was almost certain John intended to make two pieces of him.

Tamsin broke the paralysis that had gripped the company by applauding loudly, “Well done cousin!” she called. After only a moment’s hesitation Nicola joined in, nudging her companion until one person after another caught on that all the unexpected goings on were over now. John helped Sherlock up, standing himself to give Sherlock another quick kiss, throwing a happy smile over everyone afterward. Greg and Mycroft were also standing though they did nothing more than to discretely press the backs of their hands together. Neither of them were demonstrative but Sherlock was positive they were feeling as jubilant as he was and if they weren’t he didn’t care. He was ecstatic. He’d asked and John had said yes. They were going to get married. Sherlock’s entire family had witnessed it.

Mummy stood and looked at Mycroft and then at Sherlock, “We have to talk.” she stood, “Excuse us. There is music in the great-room, we will re-join you shortly.”

Mummy walked away without looking back. A bit concerned Sherlock looked at Mycroft who shrugged. He didn’t know what she wanted either. Both brothers sighed and Sherlock looked down at John, “Come along John.” John took his hand without hesitation and followed Mycroft and Greg out of the dining room. Mummy was waiting.

 

 

 

 

 


	9. A Wish Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes brothers have made Mummy leave her own party. There's nothing for it but to see what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you brilliant guessers of what is about to happen I absolutely love you. I hope to surprise you still though ;)

Mummy led them to their late father’s office. Even after all these years and the many changes to their home Mummy hadn’t altered the office a bit. She went behind the desk and pulled an envelope from a file. She sat on Papa’s chair and slid the packet to Mycroft. “I have changed the conditions of the Trust. You and Sherlock both are removed from it entirely until I am guaranteed at least one grandchild, from either of you. At this point I don’t care which one of you does it. I don’t want to die of old age before I see an heir.”

Mycroft read the paper over carefully, signed it, then handed it to Lestrade who read it as well before giving it to Sherlock. Mummy had indeed drawn up the proper documents that excluded both brothers from accessing it. If they fulfilled her conditions all the previous strictures would be removed. She’d even insisted on a DNA test to prove that any resultant child was actually theirs. Sherlock shook his head but signed as Mycroft had and gave it to John. Sherlock was completely disinterested in having children now, not if Mummy had plans for them which clearly she did. Whatever child he or Mycroft had would be vulnerable to her machinations, just as they were, no matter how they tried to protect them. Mummy sat behind the desk looking triumphant when she got it back, signing her name with a flourish. Lestrade poked Mycroft who sat straighter, “Very admirable Mummy but fortunately unnecessary.”

Mummy looked sharply at her eldest son. Lestrade poked him again and Mycroft lifted his mobile to his ear and murmured something. A few moments later Anthea walked into the room. She was cool, sophisticated, her presentation flawless, her clothes the very latest, and she was reading her email as she walked in. Sherlock couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen Anthea cease working. Even when she was on her mobile she was usually involved in one of Mycroft’s more complicated dealings. Sherlock had to privately admit that he had a hard time reading her, “Yes?” she asked, flipping through messages and texting quickly.

“Whom did I spent my first year at uni with?” asked Mycroft gently.

Anthea’s eyes never moved from the screen, “Anick Belle Robillard,” she stated flatly. “Your only girlfriend on record.”

“Just so. What happened to Mademoiselle Robillard?”  Mycroft’s voice was gentle.

“She became ill. She left school to recuperate. You never heard from directly her again. Her parents eventually told you she had passed away. You never dated a woman again.” Anthea was texting furiously, her eyes never once flickering to her employer.

“Why is this relevant Mycroft?” demanded Mummy impatiently.

Mycroft ignored her and looked up at Anthea, “What year were you born?”

Anthea shrugged elegantly, “The records say 1984, the month is up for grabs. I’ve always favored summer birthdays when I remember to celebrate.”

“What do you do for me?”

“Aside from being the best PA money can buy I’m a polyglot, I have advanced skills in five different martial arts apart from being proficient in a number of weapons. I’m an efficiency expert as well as an excellent dancer. The most recent degree I completed was for international protocol. I also review new and upcoming technology to keep you apprised of all the latest advantages.” Anthea wasn’t bragging. She was just stating the facts, her fingers never ceasing their work. Mummy stared at her as if she’d never seen a being like Anthea before.

“How did we meet?” Mycroft’s eyes were fond.

“I was robbing you. I lied my way into your hotel by telling the concierge I was your daughter. You caught me breaking into your room safe. Your guard tried to shoot me but you stopped him. You said I looked familiar.” Mycroft and Anthea shared a quick smile before she went back to work. “When I cursed you both in three different languages you offered me a job right on the spot. You sent me to school first.”

“How long have you worked for me?” Anthea finally put her mobile down.

“Eight years.” Mycroft nodded at her answer.

“Do you understand why I’ve asked you these questions?” Mycroft looked at Anthea expectantly.

She stood tall, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You knew the whole time.”

“Not for certain. I _suspected_ for a long time but for many reasons I delayed in confirming it. You are very much like your late mother. You?”

“It didn’t even occur to me until just now. How can you be certain?”

“Me.” said Lestrade. “I got some tests done. I knew there was something weird about you two the day we met. The thing about the lot of you is that you bleed with alarming frequency around me. Getting samples wasn’t hard.” Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he examined Anthea closely. Around the eyes perhaps but just a touch, if he hadn’t been told he never would have seen it. Lestrade pointed between the two of them, “They move the same when they fight hand-to-hand. They’ve got the same terrifying smile when they’re being threatening too; I can’t tell you when I saw that. It’s weird long-shot I might never have done if it weren’t for the thousand and one similarities I witnessed, and if I hadn’t spent so much time waiting for Sherlock in hospital I never would have seen it. It tickled the back of my mind until I looked into it. It’s true.”

“Impossible.” Mummy was astonished and disbelieving.

Now Mycroft frowned for the first time and stood from his chair in front of the desk to stand beside Anthea, “Anthea darling, please meet your grandmother, Violet.”

Anthea looked at Violet calmly, “ _Bonjour Grand’Mere_.”

“Don’t call me that! You’re too old! I wanted grand _children_ not some…how… _how is this possible_?” Mummy seemed shocked.

In a soft and careful voice John began, “Well when a boy and girl _really_ like each other sometimes a _magic stork_ visits them with a token of their affections, it’s called a _baby_. You got the adult model. Congratulations Granny Violet!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Mummy as she glared at Mycroft, sparing a bit of it for John too.

“Gregory only had the tests done recently after we were dating properly. He is a detective after all and he could not ignore the clues in front of him. Part of his conditions in order to wed was to finally tell her. This situation with Sherlock happened more or less at the same time and I was reluctant to change things between Anthea and myself. She is a remarkable young lady who grew up thinking she was an orphan and despite her many problems she has risen far. I would not wish for anyone to assume this has happened simply because she is my daughter.”

“A bastard!” cried Mummy, “How could you _do_ this to me?”

At the word _bastard_ Anthea’s mouth crooked into a brief smile and she went back to texting. John sat back, “Tamsin won’t marry Sherlock either, she’s already said. This is the grandchild you wanted. She’s very lovely, you can’t deny that. Anthea is very fashionable too; she never wears the same dress twice.”

“That’s true.” said Anthea, “Daddy introduced me to all the fashion houses years ago, said I needed to look my best every moment for our work. We have accounts everywhere.”

“Don’t call me daddy.”

“Poppa?”

“No.”

“Dad?”

“I don’t think so. If you absolutely insist on something at this late date then _Père_ is sufficient.”

“I’m calling you _MyPops_.” decided Anthea firmly, not looking up from her screen. John burst out laughing because Mycroft rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “I’ll call the legal team shall I?”

“Indeed Anthea, we have inheritances to sort out.” Anthea just swept out of the room, her heels clicking definitively along the tiles as she departed, her calm as always undisturbed.

Mycroft picked up Mummy’s paperwork, examining it quickly, “I do believe we’ve fulfilled the conditions you have made. Gregory can provide you the name of the laboratory where the tests were run though I suppose you will still insist on further tests being done at a facility of your choice. Anthea and I will arrange for appropriate samples to be provided. Thanks to this new agreement Sherlock and I are now free to use the Trust as we wish without bothering with annoying details like allocations. It will simply be split evenly down the middle, half for me, half for him.”

Mummy sat there looking utterly furious. “The next thing I suppose is letting these gutter-rats have access to the Holmes fortune!”

Greg frowned and Mycroft spoke again, “Another condition I had to agree to was to live only on the personal earnings we two can combine together. Gregory is not interested in the family fortune; indeed, my attempts to include him nearly ended everything. I imagine I will find something to do with my portion of the Trust but I don’t need it, I have my own fortune and that one Gregory very reluctantly has agreed to share with me.”

“Give it to Sherlock.” suggested Lestrade and Mycroft nodded thoughtfully. If Anthea was his daughter as she likely was then she’d be entitled to her own portion of the family money. Sherlock didn’t care, Mycroft would sort it out. “You know they’ll just spend it on that old pile of bricks they’re so in love with. If nothing else at least we’ll know they can always be found at Baker Street. I swear those two plan on rotting to death in that rickety old place.”

“We’re renovating it.” protested John, “Mrs. Hudson is already ordering supplies.”

“We already have our own money.” protested Sherlock but John covered his mouth.

“Those upgrades are expensive. We’ll take it.” said John, “I suppose I’ll have to sign a bunch of things too.”

Sherlock pulled John’s hand off his mouth, “Not really John.”

John turned and eyed him suspiciously, “What did you do Sherlock?”

Sherlock immediately felt guilty and began by speaking placating, “It was right after the potion but it still makes so much sense and I couldn’t see why you wouldn’t have agreed to do it but…well,” Sherlock looked around imploringly at everyone else, hoping they would understand as well, “John, I’ve given you the Power of Attorney over my estate. You’re the only person in the world I trust to take care of me in the way I would prefer should anything become…” Sherlock couldn’t say it. If he became too ill or was wounded grievously someone would need to look after everything. Mycroft would have done most of it of course, if only out of duty to his family, but when it came down to it Sherlock didn’t want Mycroft to make any decisions for him. He wanted John to do it. “Anyway it’s done now and has been for months. I know you don’t want money John but you have always looked after me. I wanted to look after you too.”

John shot straight out of his seat and he was almost shouting, his face anxious and distressed, “You are _not_ dying again Sherlock Holmes, you are _not_! I can’t _do_ that a second time. If you did this because you’re dying I’m going to _kill_ you!” John looked highly agitated and had to swallow deeply several times.

Sherlock hastened to reassure him, “I’m not ill John, I’m not sick. That’s not why I did this. I need to share my life with you, all of it, or it doesn’t feel right. I need to know that everything mine is yours and everything yours is mine because we belong together entirely!”

“Sentimental _twaddle_.” snapped Mummy, “What’s this about a potion? You were drugged? He drugged you and convinced you to do this? _This_ is who you are marrying, some kind of degenerate _rapist_ who found a way to get you to give him your money?”

“You could not be further from the truth of the matter.” Sherlock felt horrified that anyone could think John capable of such a thing and once again the shame of his actions filled him. _How could he have done that to John_? Even if they had worked through it a bit it didn’t change the fact that Sherlock had deliberately gotten John to drink something dubious just to get his way. “If there is someone to be fearful of in this relationship it is _me_. John is the bravest of men to even continue associating with one such as I.”

“I doubt that my boy. He’s a _soldier_ and you know what I think of them. _Bravery_? Mycroft has at least learned what _I_ think of _bravery_. He’s a brute who has forced you in who knows what ways to get you to think you want this life when you don’t. You want a _proper_ relationship, a pretty wife, and the best of everything.”

Mycroft spoke and his voice was soft, “Not everyone lives by _your_ standards Mummy. Doctor Watson is one of the most honorable and ethical men I have ever come across. I understand of course why you do not recognize these attributes. For his whole life you have surrounded Sherlock with the shallowest of people, vipers who picked at his self-esteem like leeches while plying you with false praise. The more he grew the worse it became. He couldn’t stay a boy forever and you allowed him to be _tormented_ for it because his success was your success. Your constant search for physical perfection has tainted everything of actual beauty until you are surrounded by nothing but the most superficial of things. You kept him half-starved, forced me to look the other way when he became addicted because he stopped eating! Your constant criticism has led both of us to become almost entirely dysfunctional. Sherlock was sociopathic! Until he met John Watson Sherlock was _dying_. He hated everything especially himself thanks to you. _You_ made us hate _ourselves_! I _should_ give John Watson every bit of the Trust because _he_ unlike the sycophants you care so deeply for is worth every penny. I don’t pretend that my brother and I are close, you saw to _that_ decades ago, but I am not so blinded by my prejudices that I am unable to see that John Watson is the person who keeps Sherlock alive and not just alive, but happy. Have you ever done that? Have you ever once tried to make your sons happy? I cannot recollect a single occasion. John does that for Sherlock and Gregory does that for me. You will excuse us all Mummy. I have a daughter to introduce to the family and I do believe Sherlock and John are leaving for London. Their car is waiting.” Mycroft turned to Sherlock and looked at him seriously, “I do not believe you and I will ever enjoy a relationship that contains even a trace of warmth but I am willing to have one that at least is cordial. You have done well by finding John; he will keep you safer than ever I could.” Mycroft shook Sherlock’s hand and left with Greg at his back.

John was standing there looking at Sherlock. He’d calmed down while Mycroft had spoken. His soft smile was directed at Sherlock but his words were for Mummy, “We still haven’t decided if we’re ever having children. We might. I just wanted you to know that.” He didn’t seem to have anything left to say so he reached out for Sherlock’s hand, “Come on love, it’s time to go home.” John led him past the remains of the cousins still sitting at the dining room table and once more waved farewell to Tamsin but otherwise just walked Sherlock to the door. Their coats were retrieved and their car pulled away smoothly, entering traffic easily as it took them back to Baker Street and home. John held Sherlock’s hand and both men looked out the windows, lost in their private thoughts for a long time. John spoke first, “You scared me. I thought you had something fatal or another enemy had popped up while I’d been too busy to notice. Just for a moment there…god I was terrified.”

Sherlock slid across the seat and turned John’s head to face him. The doctor’s eyes were red and brimming, his face painted with remembered fear, “I would never hide such things from you John. I will never hide anything from you ever again, not unless it’s a present, then I’ll have to hope you’ll forgive me for being deceitful.”

John rubbed his finger over his new ring and smiled up at Sherlock, his eyes still red but the unhappiness gone, “That was a really unexpected surprise.”

“I know I put you on the spot.”

John just grinned up at him, his eyes happy once again. Sherlock lit up inside to see the love in John’s eyes, “It’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never really thought of marriage but now I’m almost impatient.”

“My birthday is coming up.” said Sherlock hopefully. Celebrating their marriage on his birthday would be so much better than checking off another dismal year alone. He’d done that plenty of times, he’d be happy to change how he viewed his birthday.

“We can’t put a wedding together in less than two weeks! Mrs. Hudson would kill us unless we did it properly. She can’t let Mrs. Turner be the only one with married ones; you know how long they’ve been rivals.”

“That’s true. Well we’ll talk to her over dinner. I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say.” They could practically hear Mrs. Hudson’s excitement already. The friendly rivalry between landladies had been ongoing for years, Sherlock wasn’t sure how he and John getting married would tip the scales but he was very fond of Mrs. Hudson as was John, they’d want to include her regardless.

As it turned out that when you knew someone who had a minor position in government who was interested in fast-tracking certain processes for entirely selfish reasons but was also willing to allow his younger brother to ride along you _could_ arrange a wedding in less than two weeks, even during the holidays. Neither couple was interested in a production, even opting to bring in the New Year with quiet evenings in. When asked, Lestrade replied that he had done it several times and had hated each occasion. Mycroft had attended so many political weddings he was sick to death of the pomp that went with them. John was appalled at the idea of having to find people to attend, or searching for a venue, and when Mrs. Hudson mentioned flowers John almost gave his ring back until Sherlock told him they could get married anywhere they wanted in London with just the two of them and a witness.

Angelo cried the entire thankfully brief ceremony along with Mrs. Hudson. They got married standing next to the booth where they’d shared their first meal and where Angelo had called John Sherlock’s date. The registrar looked a bit askance at the giant man sobbing into a huge white handkerchief but managed to lead John and Sherlock through their simple vows. Lestrade signed as a witness as a favor to John who was returning the favor later in the day at the Diogenes Club where for reasons Sherlock did not want to know Mycroft and Lestrade were getting married in a small conference room. By special dispensation Anthea was there, barely paying attention except to keep calling Sherlock by her new diminutive for him so instead of _Uncle Sherlock_ which he also hated she kept saying _UnLock_ which made John laugh every time. Sherlock scowled whenever she said it but said nothing when she gave John a brand new mobile that was on the same government plan Sherlock’s was on and boasted all sorts of features John didn’t know how to use. After a small meal they departed as a group after saying farewell to Angelo and went to witness Mycroft and Greg get married. After the last signature was signed and a glass of champagne raised to both new couples everyone said farewell and went their separate ways.

John and Sherlock trouped into Lestrade’s old flat. The bison head looked strange at the end of the small hallway but there was nowhere else to put it. 221 B had been boxed up and emptied in preparation for extensive renovations and upgrades, since Greg was living with Mycroft he’d offered them the space. John pragmatically decided that they could afford professionals and had shamelessly used his new niece to organize the hiring of some very reputable and normally hard to obtain contractors to do the bulk of the work. Sherlock had assisted by retaining the help of several curators who specialized in historical reconstructions of artefacts, all of them flocking over to poke with fascination at the slowly exposed walls of the building as layers were carefully peeled away to strip it down to its bones.

It took months. Spring was in its full bloom when the last moving van pulled away from Baker Street and John and Sherlock were able to trudge upstairs to finish moving back into their newly refurbished home. Mrs. Hudson had spent the intervening weeks on an extended and rather lavish holiday sponsored mostly by her winnings at various casinos in different countries but initially by John and Sherlock. They stood in the doorway to their flat and looked around.

The bison was back in its traditional location after having spent three weeks in the basement of a facility that had cleaned it thoroughly and provided it with a new more contemporary set of headphones before reinstalling it on the wall. The skull had spent a day or so with Molly and had come back shining clean. Everything looked much as it had before the renovation, each part of it carefully refurbished until it looked new, everything exactly as it would have been when first made. The dry-rot in the floors had been dealt with as had the mould in the walls. Cracked beams had been replaced and rusted pipes had been switched out. The ancient water heater had been gutted and given new insides; the exterior carefully replaced so it looked authentic but would now provide a full tank of screaming hot clear water instead of nearly hot occasionally slightly orange water. The window frames had been carefully removed and cautiously repaired. It was all new glass due to the amount of times Baker Street had experienced explosions. The chimney had been re-bricked and all the metalwork cleaned and reinstalled along with a safety screen to keep the coals from rolling out. Sherlock convinced John to replace the appliances in the kitchen even though the old ones worked perfectly well so together with Mrs. Hudson they chose for the first time ever a matching fridge and stove along with a new microwave and even a shiny new kettle for water. Once the kitchen was sorted out and after some debate a new entertainment system had been organized, hidden away in a dark wood cabinet. A long heart-felt conversation led to the decision that retired the sofa which had at least four very cruel springs counting against it and got a new one. They kept their chairs.

All the wiring in the building had been upgraded so as to accommodate Sherlock’s new lab, situated in what had been his bedroom. Long discussions with planners and inspectors had allowed for a venting system as well as a small amount of plumbing to be installed that enabled Sherlock to clean up after himself if John didn’t get to it first, and to operate his lab equipment, especially his new incubator but which also included all the old kitchen appliances, Sherlock reasoning that they owned them already and it was better than using the new ones, a fact that John would never think to argue with. All his work-related paraphernalia was carefully stored in specially made storage areas they’d had built and it freed up a surprising amount of space in rest the flat. Sherlock and John moved upstairs to John’s old room. It had been re-floored and re-insulated during the course of the renovations and while slightly smaller now had the benefit of being almost entirely private, a quality that could not be appreciated enough. Sherlock had found three matching wardrobes, all of which now covered the wall that joined to the neighbor’s flat next door and was filled with all their various clothing. It was satisfying to see all their things together.

Sherlock found that being married agreed with him. Apart from the initial legality of it and all the sex his relationship with John was more or less unchanged. They were still best friends who worked together. They’d been crushed under a tsunami of best wishes when the news got out, John’s blog exploding with comments and the post had to be delivered in large bags a day or so from all the cards they got from people they’d never met but who were fans of the work they did.

The Yarders were initially disbelieving but Lestrade assured them that he’d been there. His marriage to Mycroft had been a huge shock to most of his division but only because everyone found out Mycroft was Sherlock’s sibling. They were horrified that there was more than one Holmes in the world and complained that Sherlock was frightening enough without having an older brother. It gave Sherlock confidence that he was feared as well, if for slightly different reasons than his husband. When John wasn’t able to come on cases with him the comments made to him by various others no longer had the power to sting him.

The occasional spiteful email from Mummy no longer troubled him either. She’d been invited to witness the weddings but had not spoken to either son since the last of the Trust was placed firmly in their hands. Sherlock suspected she was busy with her committee work and shrugged. Her choices were hers alone, he was unaffected. Anthea had deftly won her grandmother’s heart by agreeing to do a photo shoot for Valentine’s Day, a decision Violet no likely regretted because while the demurely romantic pictures were skillfully done, behind the camera Anthea caused no end of fluster when she brazenly flirted with all the men _and_ women there, before she openly took home the most disreputable man she could find, but not before securing the personal phone numbers of two of the female organizers for dates later in the week. Mummy never asked Anthea to pose again though she did take Anthea to several fashion shows with her since Anthea knew so many of the designers already.

Now Sherlock and John were alone in 221 B, the last of their things waiting to be unpacked, “I’m making tea.” said John. Sherlock nodded and took the last of their bags upstairs where he emptied them out quickly before storing their suitcase away in the hall closet. Going back to the bedroom he stood and looked at the night-table and all the many drawers in it. He shivered a bit and wondered what this night would bring him, especially when he eyed the heavy floor-bolts that kept the bed solidly in place. Carefully he toed the area carpet that was spread out, there was an anti-slip mat beneath it that made the entire space conveniently padded and Sherlock felt himself stirring.

Leaving quickly Sherlock went downstairs to find John stirring their mugs, a plate of biscuits already set out, “Thank you my darling.” Endearments came easier to Sherlock though they had felt strange at first. John had no problem calling Sherlock _love_ all the time, or _sweetheart_ , or _my angel_ , or any number of delightful things but so far Sherlock hadn’t felt comfortable about using more than _my darling_ , or occasionally _my dearest_.

They enjoyed their tea on the new sofa, a fresh fire crackling in the fireplace. John looked around, “Apart from being almost unnaturally clean it’s very nearly the same.”

Sherlock looked. They’d taken countless photos and made small movies of how everything was before embarking on the massive undertaking. There was no way they could have done it on their own. John had been a strict taskmaster, keeping all the contractors in line and on schedule, not allowing for any sort of variation. Sherlock had called in numerous favors from artisans across the city to assist with the project, all under John’s direction. He was good at being in charge, a quality that Sherlock had learned to appreciate and very much enjoy.

It turned out John was quite masterful in the bedroom and that Sherlock loved to be directed. He wasn’t submissive, far from it, but there was something about _how_ John made his demands that caused Sherlock to lose the desire to do anything except what John wished to do. The doctor was very giving to be sure but he was also excellent at taking and what he took from Sherlock were moans and cries of sheer bliss. Sherlock was learning so much about himself, John taught him something new almost every day, the soldier an almost inexhaustibly demanding lover who kept Sherlock in a state of extended orgasmic bliss whenever they had time.

“I’m glad it is. It feels good to be home.” Home with John, his marvelous and wonderful husband, Sherlock took John’s hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. John didn’t mind when Sherlock got like this. Whenever they were alone Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he needed to adore his soldier so he did. He kissed John as often as he could, touched him in small places whenever an opportunity presented itself, and like now, curled himself up against the small strong man and let John hold him snugly to his side. Sherlock closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth and scent of his John, a small smile on his face as he thought of all the lovely memories they’d already made since they wed. John was a rascal, a far more debauched and daring lover than ever Sherlock could have envisioned. It brought a tinge of pink to his cheeks to recall all the places John had secretly taken him. More than one dark alley had traces of their DNA splashed against its walls.

“What are you thinking about?” asked John fondly, stroking Sherlock’s cheeks. It made him blush more to be caught reminiscing about having sex in dank places, “You’ve gone all red.”

“The stakeout today.” said Sherlock, his cheeks now scarlet. He was defenseless against that amused tone in John’s voice because John knew very well what Sherlock was thinking about but he’d make Sherlock tell him anyway, just to watch him blush again. “When you…”

“When I what?” asked John, his voice innocent but his eyes full of wicked merriment.

“You did that thing with the box.” said Sherlock breathlessly. John had found a stack of discarded cardboard boxes from the store they had examined. He’d quickly ripped them open to provide a clean-ish surface for Sherlock to kneel on, “You said…”

“I didn’t want you to get scratches on your hands or knees.” said John gently, still stroking the blush on Sherlock’s cheeks, “What did you like?”

This was something else John did. He questioned Sherlock about their love-play, plumbing the undiscovered depths of Sherlock’s sexual needs to find out absolutely everything that made Sherlock go crazy. “I liked the way you gagged me.” John had stuffed Sherlock’s scarf in his mouth to stifle his cries, forcing Sherlock to keep his responses to muffled grunts and gasps for air.

“What else?” John’s fingers wandered down Sherlock’s neck to feel the flutter of his racing pulse.

“I liked how fast it was, you know exactly how to finish me.” They’d only had a short while before Lestrade and Donovan arrived. Frequent sex left Sherlock able to take John almost immediately, requiring only lube of which Sherlock kept several packets in the pocket of his jacket. The smaller man twisted and plunged in such a way that Sherlock had come untouched in only a few minutes, John had followed him only a few strokes later, keeping himself buried deep the entire time.

“Anything else?” Sherlock’s face could not get any redder and he shifted a bit in his seat.

“The plug.”

John had surprised Sherlock then by producing an anal plug that had been sealed safely inside sterile packaging. Using another small packet of lube he’d eased it into Sherlock right there in the alley, wiping him clean after with another packet of wet-wipes before binning their trash in a nearby container and helping Sherlock to stand. It stayed firmly into place, the weight very noticeable and John had made Sherlock groan again when he said, “That’ll keep your pants tidy for now, can’t have a big obvious mess while we’re on the job, can we?”

John was a naughty rude man with filthy thoughts and ideas, each one capable of rendering Sherlock nearly blind by the end of their session, the bliss so overwhelming Sherlock often wondered how he’d existed without such a feeling in his life. While John explored what Sherlock liked John revealed to Sherlock what _he_ liked and Sherlock had never had an education quite like it. Today day had been long and Sherlock’s cheeks had never cooled completely.

John had kinks. He had toys and games and his request for a safe-word had quickly become a serious one so after more discussion they settled on the stop-light system which allowed for some leniency. Sherlock had quickly discovered that John was a genius in his own way and had conducted extensive studies previous to being with him that guaranteed that he knew dozens of ways to make Sherlock forget his own name. He’d always assumed he was at least technically knowledgeable about sex but John had shown him how laughable that knowledge was. John was a master.

As soon as their tea was finished John chased Sherlock to their room, throwing the large heavy blanket he’d ordered specially for them over their duvet. Sherlock felt himself grow a little hard just at the sight of it. Already it had become associated with mind-shattering pleasure and Sherlock had a Pavlovian reaction to it when he felt his knees weaken and his pulse race. He stood in the center of the room and waited.

John removed all of his own clothing, hanging them neatly away. He was half-hard but ignored himself in order to concentrate on Sherlock. John made appreciative noises as he peeled Sherlock out of one layer after another. Undressing Sherlock was just one of the many small things that turned John on though not as much as obedience.

John wasn’t trying to dominate Sherlock. They were two strong willed men in a passionate and deeply meaningful relationship. The craving they felt for one another was an ocean and when they lost control it became a storm. John knew how to ride that energy, to harness it and make Sherlock nearly scream during his release and Sherlock was completely willing to continue letting John take the lead. Once Sherlock was stripped bare John led him down to the shower where Sherlock leaned facing the wall, presenting himself to John while hot water rained down over him. John eased the plug out and both of them moaned softly when he was done.

Sherlock felt over-sensitive already but he’d learned patience. John would keep everything slow and steady until he’d crossed the plateau they’d discovered together. There was a point in his arousal that with care allowed Sherlock to enjoy more powerful stimulation and John had a lot of ideas on how to expand those borders. John began slowly.

The shower was sweet and loving but John did nothing to initiate anything further and Sherlock knew he wouldn’t. Eager as he currently was John could not be rushed when he decided they were going slow and tonight they were in no hurry. They washed lazily and kissed a bit but got out as soon as they were clean. John helped Sherlock into his robe and slippers, kissing him often, but leading him to the kitchen to make dinner. Sure enough right after they ate Sherlock had to excuse himself but came back shower fresh after a second quick wash. John was reading a book, patiently waiting and when Sherlock came back his cheeks pinked again because he knew what was coming. “Ready?”

“Yes John.” Sherlock stayed where he was. He knew John preferred to lead him, guiding Sherlock up the stairs like a gentleman. He was always so sweet in the beginning, his kisses tender and loving, coaxing Sherlock into gradually hotter states of desire until he was whimpering and begging for John to do something, anything at all to him. The second John heard the pleading in his voice he stopped holding himself back and gave Sherlock everything he asked for and more.

It wasn’t unusual for Sherlock to weep sometimes, the aching beauty of the feelings John produced sometimes too much for his transport to deal with, his whole body trying to tear itself apart from the bittersweet tension. John would kiss him then, drinking in Sherlock’s cries until they came. Sometimes Sherlock forgot himself and swore, curses falling from his lips unchecked and that made John fuck him roughly. Sherlock loved that. There were times when Sherlock would find himself with his legs spread wide while John hammered into him ferociously, both of them grunting like animals while they took their pleasure on each other. John was an oral man too, and taught Sherlock to love it as much as he did, their questing mouths sometimes causing an evening to end faster than anticipated though they never stinted on the loving that happened afterward. All of it was beautiful and Sherlock hadn’t felt even the slightest regret that the lacquered box was gone from his life. He’d never felt higher or more uplifted than he did now that he was married to John.

John had also several times offered to let Sherlock top him but it never quite happened. Eventually they decided Sherlock was an unrepentant bottom since he managed to get himself into the receiving position each and every time no matter what John had planned. John didn’t really mind because Sherlock’s fingers were long and clever enough to please him when he felt like it and he was more than happy to devote his attentions to Sherlock’s arse which he loved to distraction. John loved to fuck Sherlock, loved to be in him, loved to stroke and touch him while his cock entered the taller man over and over again. John was as addicted to fucking Sherlock as Sherlock was of taking him.

Now hours had gone by and they lay there side by side on their stomachs, panting and trying to catch their breaths. John was lazily running his hands over Sherlock’s sweat soaked skin, dipping his fingers again and again between Sherlock’s cheeks to toy with his well-used entrance. In many ways John was a primal man, he liked to know his lover was well and truly marked as his. John liked to come inside Sherlock as much as possible and also left a trail of small love-bites on his chest and inner-thighs where no one but John, and occasionally the paramedics, saw them. Sherlock adored that. He craved it. He wanted to know that for every minute of the day he was connected to John Watson somehow, that somewhere on his person he bore some bit of his husband on him. His body was John’s to enjoy and Sherlock had never loved himself so much because John found so much pleasure in him. For John he didn’t mind being called beautiful, or being told that his long arms and legs were sexy, or that his flat stomach needed more biting, or that his hips could do with a bit of kissing, or that the extra pounds that were finally beginning to settle on his bones made him so desirable that John had a hard time leaving him to go to work.

They eventually cleaned up, washing one last time before crawling into bed naked and temporarily sated. John held Sherlock tight in his arms as they drowsed together. Sherlock let his eyes sleepily wander over their bedroom and stopped on a shadow-box mounted near the window. Inside was the manuscript he had found as well as the two tall glasses, the crystal bowl, and the silver spoon. John wanted to keep them as a remembrance of how they finally got together, “It would have happened eventually.” John had decided. “Maybe we needed to start in a way neither of us could prevent, after all, we’d lived together for all that time and never made a move.”

Sherlock would never really forgive himself for being so low but it made him extra sensitive to other times when he might have otherwise trampled on someone’s rights and feelings so in a way he was glad everything turned out as it had. “I love you.” he said, his head on John’s chest so he could hear how it beat a little faster as he spoke the words.

“I love you too, so much.” said John, his fingers carding softly through Sherlock’s hair. They very seldom said it, preferring to demonstrate their affections in other ways but sometimes, like tonight, Sherlock felt them tumble from his lips unbidden. John never doubted him and assured him of the return of his affections. Sherlock knew now what it was like to be loved. It was being stronger than you ever thought you could be, it was making yourself work harder, be more, to feel as if you could do anything at all if only you could make your someone special smile and John did smile. In that smile Sherlock knew everything about himself was beautiful and wanted, that he didn’t need to put up a mask for John, his lover wanted to know every hidden part of him because he found joy in sharing. To be loved was to know that despite mistakes and accidents which were sure to happen Sherlock would always have a home to come back to, no matter what, and he would forever. Secure in the knowledge that he was loved and would remain loved Sherlock allowed his eyes to close at long last. Breathing in the delicious scent of his husband Sherlock allowed John’s heartbeat to lull him to sleep. Tomorrow was another day and they would live it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a Christmas fic but it kind of spilled over very nearly into the new year. I'm taking a breather for a minute but very shortly I will have some fresh stories for you so subscribe to get one of those email thingies to tell you when that happens. Thanks for enjoying :D

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. Please feel free to leave a remark about the story, it keeps me smiling. Also I do have a little used Tumblr account which I apparently can receive messages on. Don't expect miracles or anything but I might actually figure out how to answer questions and things like that.
> 
>  
> 
> distantstarlight.tumblr.com


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